


Shadowing My Dreams

by nubianamy



Series: The Donutverse [23]
Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Cars, Complicated Relationships, Dancing and Singing, Discipline, Dom/sub, Episode: s01e19 Dream On, Family Drama, Home, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Les Misérables References, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Slavery, Parent-Child Relationship, Plug Training, Polyamory, Relationship Negotiation, Singing, Singing Finn's Favorite Songs, Slave Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2894327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While everyone in the family is thinking and looking ahead to the future, Sarah is trying to make her dream a reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as chapters 36-39 of The Fingers of Your Fire. 
> 
> Set just before, during and after episode 1.19 Dream On. This story follows The Silence That I Keep and parallels There's an Awful Lot of Breathing Room.
> 
> You can listen to the 8track playlist for Fingers of Your Fire [here](http://8tracks.com/nubianamy/the-fingers-of-your-fire) (part of the enormous FoYF one is still [on YouTube here](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLc72s_nGT2yT62f9-u6XxCAAE_VjrOVen), although people keep deleting the videos I link to!). I will also include links to all songs throughout the story, for reference.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is worried about Toby. The three boys get caught up with one another and talk about the logistics of moving back into the Hummel house. Dave gets more upset about his situation. Burt gives Puck a present and confronts Sarah with questions about her mysterious project. Sarah pleads her case and awaits judgment. Puck packs up his apartment, talks to Shelby, makes an appointment with Angela, and tries not to freak out about moving back in. Bryan Ryan tells Glee Club they'll never amount to anything. Will takes Bryan out for a beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a chapter about Puck and Sarah, but there were some additional details to cover regarding Dave and Toby. Warning for discussion of consensual slavery. I feel a little bad for Burt in this chapter, but he seems to be dealing okay. Thanks to Flynn, as always, for consulting on cars. 
> 
> -amy

Kurt thumbed off his phone with a dissatisfied sigh. Finn carefully took it out of his hand and set it on the table beside the bed, then returned his hand to Puck's knee.

"They're still not talking?" Puck asked, modulating up to an E.

"Toby's lucky Mr. Schue doesn't know how to block calls on his cell," said Kurt. He leaned his head back against Finn's shoulder. "I don't think Toby knows when to quit."

"You don't think he should give up on Mr. Schue," Finn asked. "Do you really?"

"Not give up. Just wait."

Puck immediately switched to a few bars of "The Gambler." Judging by Finn's lack of response, Kurt guessed he wasn't aware of the lyrics. Kurt reached out and poked Puck in the ribs, making him snort and edge away, but he didn't stop playing.

"Wait for what?" Finn persisted.

Kurt paused. "I… don't know," he hedged. "I'm hesitant to make any assumptions out loud. Just that Mr. Schue might benefit from an extra couple weeks to think about things. You of all people should know what I'm talking about, Finn."

Finn didn't look upset, just thoughtful. Kurt thought that was an improvement from guilty or morose.

"I think if he's going to be pissed at him for cheating or whatever, he should figure out what he can live with and what he can't. I mean, didn't they kind of have an agreement? Toby had, like, a boyfriend in Denver before he moved out here."

"I don't know what their agreement was. Maybe they didn't have any agreement." Kurt looked up at Finn's pensive face. "Don't ask, don't tell."

Puck snorted. "That sucks. What's the fun in that? Fucking  _tell,_  even if nobody asks." He shifted over to the edge of the bed and set his guitar down on the rug before stretching out, full-length, on top of Finn. Kurt had to smile.

"Not everybody wants to know," Finn said. He looked a little overwhelmed to have Puck on top of him, but definitely pleased, and paused to kiss him.

"That's just bullshit. Everybody wants to know. Even if they say they don't. Even if they don't think it's hot." Puck made a face that reminded Kurt so much of Sarah that he laughed. "People are nosy fuckers. Plus, it  _is_  hot."

Finn grinned. "You never did try to hide what you thought."

"Is it okay, being away from Mercedes?" Kurt asked. "After last week, I thought we might be adding one more."

"It's fine," Puck said dismissively. "It was a game. You know that."

"It didn't seem much like a game while you were playing it."

"That's because I play it right," said Puck.

Puck rolled into the space between the two of them. It was a little tight, but Kurt put his arms around Puck and hauled him in close.

"This isn't a game," Kurt whispered, close to his ear. Puck immediately stilled, closing his eyes.

"No, sir," he whispered back.

Kurt looked over at Finn, who was watching them with a little smile. "No matter how many other people there are, it comes back to us. Mercedes… Rachel…"

"Britt?" Finn added curiously. Kurt laughed again, nuzzling Puck's neck and making him gasp.

"No — just no. Whatever curiosity I ever had about the fairer sex, they ended at Brittany's root beer-flavored lips. I don't think I ever plan to go any further than that. I'm going to stick to planting and dancing with her."

"I'm totally not surprised." Finn put his arms around the two of them, enclosing them both. "Not that any of us would ever hold you to that if you changed your mind."

"You guys look totally uncomfortable like that," Sarah said from the doorway.

She didn't appear to be angry, despite her crossed arms and bored tone, and when Kurt beckoned her into the room, she came right in. It hadn't even occurred to him to close the door. He wondered for a moment if he should have, but then he saw the way she moved immediately to clamber onto the bed beside Puck, leaning in close.

"I've already put 'king-sized bed' on my Christmas list," Kurt told her. "Until then, we're going to be crowded." He reached over Finn and patted her arm. "That doesn't mean you're not welcome."

"I didn't think it did," she said complacently. She rested her head on Puck's chest, just as Kurt was relaxing against Finn's, and when Finn interlaced his fingers with Kurt's and placed them on top of Puck, she let out a soft, contented sigh. "Crowded isn't always bad."

"I guess," Finn agreed. He didn't sound upset, either, and Kurt felt himself relaxing a little more. "I heard Mercedes quit the Cheerios. What was that about?"

Kurt felt Puck shrug. "She didn't think Sylvester was promoting a positive body image. Or something. She said she didn't like the kind of person she was when she was there."

Kurt tried not to feel affronted. "She didn't tell me that. She just said she didn't want to be forced into dieting."

"Still a good reason not to do it," Sarah said. "Mercedes is gorgeous. Can I be her when I grow up?"

"Not unless you learn a fuckton more about video games," Puck replied. "But you're right, she's totally gorgeous."

Nobody said anything for a little while, which Kurt was pleased to realize didn't feel awkward at all. He turned his head and kissed Finn on the neck, which made him hum a little.

"You guys can't make out in front of your sister," Sarah noted. "It's a rule."

"She's right. We'll wait until you go to bed, squirt."

Kurt sighed. "I think this is what Toby is missing."

"What, making out with his boyfriends?"

"No!" Kurt hit Puck on the thigh, hard enough to make him exclaim. "Being with people. Together, like this."

Finn nodded. "You mean family?"

The word was right, but thinking about Toby and family and the way he was alone in that big old house suddenly made Kurt tear up a little. "Yeah. Family. He needs that. Don't you think? His students were a little bit like family, and the men he dated were a little bit like family, but — yeah."

Even without looking, Finn seemed to understand what Kurt was feeling. He kissed the top of his head. "You want everybody else to be happy. I think you want that more than you want  _yourself_  to be happy."

They were all silent for another little while. Eventually, Sarah turned to Kurt, looking perplexed.

"How can you be happy if you're not getting what you need?"

"I need other people to be happy," Kurt tried to explain. "When Noah's happy, and my dad, and you, I'm — so happy."

She crinkled her forehead intently. "And Finn?" she asked. "And Tatenui, and Carole?"

"Yes. All of them. I don't really think much about what I need, as long as I'm not worrying about them."

Sarah shook her head. "That's messed up," she insisted. Finn and Puck both laughed.

"He just needs to be sure there's nothing else to do, before he can stop," Finn told her. He tipped Kurt's head up to kiss him more thoroughly, ignoring Sarah's sounds of mild annoyance. "Luckily, I know how to handle that."

"Really?" asked Sarah, sounding curious. "How?"

Finn smiled. "By taking away every other action. Making it impossible for him to do other things. Then he has no choice. He has to give up and relax."

Puck cackled, gazing over at Kurt's red face with shining eyes. "You're fucked."

"Pretty much," Kurt mumbled, but he was smiling too.

* * *

Dave turned around four times before he finally managed to walk up the front steps of Matt's house and knock on the door. He knocked, and waited, and knocked again, harder this time. When that elicited no response, he almost walked right back down the steps and went home. It was only three blocks away, but he should be able to -

"What are you doing?" asked a voice.

Dave spun around to see Matt's sister Danielle standing on the sidewalk, holding a soccer ball and watching him curiously.

"I — was looking for Matt," he said, letting out his breath. She shrugged.

"He's still at school."

Dave stepped back, encountering the vinyl siding with the heel of his sneaker. It made him inexplicably angry. "Why?"

"Practice with his football coach." Danielle edged around Dave to the door and opened it, giving him a strange look. "You could just come in."

Dave didn't think he could do that, but he couldn't explain why to Danielle. He could have gone through Xavier or Danny's or Rick's door without knocking, gone right into their kitchen and helped himself to something from their fridge, and it would have been fine. But he couldn't do that with Matt, because — because Matt and he were —

She was holding the door open for him, waiting. "Are you coming in, or what?" she asked impatiently.

"I —" He stumbled backwards down the steps, his heart pounding. "Just tell him — tell him I was here."

Then Dave fled, taking the long way around the block back to his house instead of cutting through the neighbors' backyards. Even if he couldn't have explained it to himself, he knew he would need the extra time to deal with Matt's absence.

 _Fucking fuck,_  he thought, taking each sidewalk square in one freakishly long stride.  _Fucking fucking fuck._

The worst part, he knew, was that Matt wouldn't even miss him. Matt wouldn't know he'd been waiting for him on the front porch, hoping Matt might be home instead. Hoping Matt might decide not to meet with Coach Tanaka at all, but home instead, just in case Dave would stop by before dinner.

"Fuck," he hissed, glaring at his enormous shoes as they covered the three blocks between Matt's house and his. He'd only just started swearing aloud this year, since he decided it didn't matter what his mom thought about his language — not that she was going to catch him swearing, ever — and it still felt ridiculously indulgent to him. He tried it again, louder this time: "Fuck!"

The air was quiet again moments later, and he slowed to a walk for the last half block, his head drooping. It didn't matter what he said. Nothing would change anything.

* * *

The garage was, Burt had told Puck, a good place to think on Sunday afternoons. Puck hadn't quite understood what he meant until he arrived and realized that aside from the occasional echo of metal against metal, the place was completely silent.

"This is weird," he called. Burt turned around and smiled, setting his wrench down.

"Give me a hand with this," he called back.

Puck approached Burt, where he was leaning over the chassis of a grey-green sedan. He gestured at it. "With what? What's this?"

Burt regarded the car with a satisfied expression, his arms crossed. "That, my friend, is a 1995 Chevy Impala SS."

"What's the SS for? Super sucky color?"

"Yeah, I have to agree that wasn't the best paint choice. But, no… it's a special souped-up model, with eight cylinders. Two hundred and sixty horsepower, column-shifted 4L60 transmission." Burt's smile faltered a moment when he saw the confusion on Puck's face. "Fast and powerful, but still solid."

"Cool," Puck said. He touched the chassis. "It's got a nice shape. Not as crazy-long as Kurt's 'Stang-and-a-half."

Burt snorted. "I never understood Kurt's love affair with that car. And I don't exactly know how I feel about Adam getting him one, but… I understand why he did it. A guy and his first car, there's something special there."

Puck didn't get it until he looked up from the Impala's hood to see Burt gazing at  _him_  with the same satisfaction that he'd bestowed on the car — and on Kurt, many times before, when Kurt hadn't been paying attention. Puck looked back at the car with a shiver of understanding. "This is — mine?"

"It will be," Burt said. "Once we've made it drivable again. The engine's not firing. It needs new spark plugs and wires. After that, we'll give it a good looking-over, and it should be good to go."

Puck took a slow walk around it, inspecting all the sides with a kind of awe. "I'm going to make a car drive?"

"You and me. And Kurt, probably, when I'm too busy to help. But it's mostly going to be your job. We'll tell you what you need to do, and why, but it's your baby."

"My baby," he murmured. Burt was smiling at him when he looked back up. "That's so  _cool_."

"Yeah, well, consider it my effort to get you to ditch that old truck of your dad's before your kid's born." Burt paused, then amended, "I don't mean I'm any better than — I mean, he's still your dad. Always that."

"Relax, Burt." Puck could have given him more reassurance that, in a contest of awesomeness, Burt would win over his dad with one arm tied behind his back. But he left it at that, and Burt's quick, brief nod was enough to let Puck know it was okay. He ran his hand over the paint. "Can we… make it a different color?"

Burt laughed. "Yeah. We can do that, later. But now… pass me that torque wrench, would you?"

Puck wouldn't have been able to explain the complete process to Sarah afterward, but he learned that he should remove the spark plugs by pulling on the caps, so as not to break the wires, as the last owner had done. He learned how to determine the correct socket size and gap, and how to use a gapping gauge, and how to lube them afterward. It didn't give him the same sense of peace he got from doing routine oil changes and changing tires, but it was a hell of a lot more interesting.

"Now, I'm no paint expert," Burt told him as they washed their hands at the utility sink, "but you and Kurt could do a credible job for a couple hundred, as long as you're willing to take your time." He smirked at Puck. "Have you figured out what the SS stands for yet?"

Puck looked over the car. "Something sedan. I don't know, sporty?"

"Aw, come on." He clapped Puck on the back. "Even I've heard your nickname."

It took him half of the drive home to get it, at which point he turned around and drove all the way back to Kurt's house. Kurt was startled when he burst through the front door, pointing his finger at an equally startled Burt. Sarah, unpacking Kurt's groceries, didn't look surprised at all.

"Sex shark!" he shouted. Burt laughed.

"Is this non sequitur day?" Kurt asked dryly. "Let me play. French toast! Kangaroo!"

"Your dad bought me a car," he said.

Kurt turned and stared at his dad, who shrugged innocently, handing Sarah the cheese and yogurt.

"It was Mercedes' idea," Burt said.

Puck paused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, apparently she spent a bunch of time with you last week. And Friday, something happened that convinced her that she wasn't going to be able to give you what you needed. Which, she seemed to think, involves other people bossing you around?" Burt nodded at Kurt, who looked equally flummoxed. "We talked about this, Kurt. At  _Tessera._ Puck moving back in, being okay with stuff. Remember? _"_

"Oh." Kurt flushed, but nodded. "Um. That was… insightful of her."

"Yeah, so she called me up, thinking if she wasn't going to be around, I might be able to help. I gotta tell you, Puck, I ain't thrilled about bossing people around. Kurt's always done his own thing, and that suits me fine. But I can tell you what to do about cars. You think that might be enough?"

Puck decided he was not going to be embarrassed, and he was also not going to cry. He nodded. "Maybe. I think so."

Kurt did not appear to be getting off so easily. He dug in the tissue box for the last one to blow his nose, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. Then he hugged Burt, and Puck, looking at each of them in turn. "Thank you. Especially you, dad, for doing your best to make this work. Finn and I will take care of things at the house, I promise."

Burt turned back to the grocery unpacking. "Yeah, well, I'm going to try really hard not to worry about the impact this might have on certain impressionable eleven-year-olds."

Throughout this entire exchange, Sarah had been watching Puck in her  _I'm not really here_  mode that she referred to as "the silent fox." He turned to her directly. "What do you think, squirt? You think I'm corrupting your brain because I want my boyfriends to boss me around?"

She gazed back at him. "I think if you are, it happened a long time ago, and there's not much you can do about it now."

"Fair enough," Puck conceded. He glanced up at Burt. "We're both pretty corrupt."

Burt snorted. "I plead the fifth. Notice I never said I wasn't going to go along with this." He turned to Sarah. "And you, young lady —"

"Oh, shit," she muttered, making Kurt cover his mouth and splutter with the effort to maintain a straight face.

"— Principal Hartford called me, wanting to set up a meeting to talk about you." He raised an eyebrow, brandishing the peanut butter jar at her. "Any idea what that might be about?"

"Um," she hedged. "Maybe?"

He frowned. "You want to tell us all now what it is, so you don't have to repeat yourself more than once?"

"I could, but I'm not done yet. With the thing I'm probably going to get in trouble for doing. So I don't know if it's worth telling you now, or waiting until I'm done, and then telling you." She thought for a moment. "Do you think you could just punish me for it now, and get it over with?"

Burt hunkered down on one knee next to her chair, so he was shorter than her. "See, the problem is, I'm terrible at that kind of thing, because Kurt never did anything I had to punish him for. Puck? Any pointers?"

"She'll never stay in the house if you try to ground her," Puck advised. "I wouldn't bother with that. And she doesn't really have any stuff worth taking away, except her computer stuff?"

"It's all on the cloud," she shrugged. "I can get to it from the library. Ban me from the television?"

"You never watch it anyway." Burt heaved a big dramatic sigh. "You're punish-proof. Just tell me about the thing, and I'll stop nagging you about it."

"It's not done!" she protested. Puck grinned at Kurt as Burt reached out and gave Sarah a solemn poke in the ribs, making her giggle.

"Tell me," he warned.

"No!" She dodged the next poke, and glared at him, affronted. "You'll tell me I can't."

"Isn't this the point, that there's nothing you can't do?" He feinted at one rib cage, then got her on the other. "Tell me."

"You're worse than Noah! And I can't do this. Not without help." Sarah shot a pleading look at Puck, which he ignored. "This is — Tatenui! Would you  _stop?"_

Burt obliged, putting his hands in his own lap. "Sorry. You've taken away my ordinary parenting tools of punishment. I have no other offensive strategy than being as annoying as possible. Tell me."

"Oh my  _god."_  She stomped toward the basement and disappeared. Kurt came over to Burt and rested his cheek on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure if I should revoke your Best Dad Ever status, or grant it to you for life," he murmured. Burt shrugged, grinning.

"You'll have to wait and see how this comes out. Consider I have no idea what I'm doing here."

"You're doing great," Puck said.

"Yeah, but she stormed out. I think that's a stand-off."

But Sarah reappeared minutes later, carrying a big roll of papers and a notebook, which she laid on the table. She resumed glaring at all of them.

"This is not  _finished,"_  she said distinctly. "Which means I'm _going_  to finish it. Which means I won't tell you what it is unless you promise to let me actually do that."

Burt crossed his arms and cocked his head at her. "Is any part of it illegal?"

"No," she said.

"Does it involve moving to another country?" Kurt added. She rolled her eyes.

"No."

"What about money? Does it cost anything?"

"Financing is part of the plan."

Puck shrugged when Burt looked at him. "Sounds okay to me. I say give it to her."

"Kurt?"

Kurt shook his head. "I don't think I can be responsible for that kind of decision without more information. I say hold off until she's done."

"I'm way too invested in finding out now." Burt got out his phone and fiddled with it. "Maybe I should talk to Carole first…"

Sarah was positively humming with repressed energy. She clutched the roll of paper in both hands. "Okay? I can do it?"

He threw the phone on the counter. "Conditional yes."

"Conditional on what?" she demanded. "Do, or do not."

"On your safety, and me being the head of this crazy household, getting to make decisions. Being older than everybody else. I don't know, other stuff." He made a grand gesture. "That's what I'm offering. Take it or leave it."

Sarah squinted at him for a good ten seconds before nodding decisively. "All right."

Puck wasn't going to tell Burt that she probably would have caved earlier if he'd just kept up the annoying shit. They gathered around the table while she unrolled the paper and weighed down the edges with coasters. It was almost as large as the entire dining surface, even with both leaves open.

"It's…" Burt looked at her. "It's a building?"

Kurt peered at it closely. "You told me it wasn't blueprints. This looks a lot like blueprints."

"Yeah, technically it's not. The actual blueprints are with the architect I've been consulting. This is just my floor plan." She took a deep breath. "You guys suck so bad. I was working up this whole speech about why we can't keep living here, and how I rode my bike all over Lima looking for the right place for us, but there's stuff we need that we can't have unless —"

"Hold it," Burt said, waving his hands. "We are not building a house."

She ignored him. "— unless we plan it the way  _we_ want it to be. All of us. So I interviewed each of you."

"You did?" Puck asked. "When? You never interviewed me."

Sarah opened her notebook and flipped to a page in the back. "Noah Puckerman, essential components to a home. Music studio. Kitchen, multiple points. Space for LDBs."

"LDBs?"

"Long distance brothers," she clarified. She pointed. "That's Adam's room. That one's for whoever comes after him. Also, space for your kid. Also —" Burt reached for the notebook and she snatched it out of his reach. "Long story short, I interviewed each of you."

"Sarah," Burt said, obviously attempting to sound patient and failing. "This isn't really going to —"

"Lauren did the CAD project with you," interrupted Kurt. She nodded. "When did you talk to an architect?"

"I might have maybe skipped a little school. But I took the bus," she added, before Burt could express his outrage. "I didn't hitchhike even once. Even to get to the contractor's, and she's way the hell over off Allentown." She flipped to another page. "So, looking for land took some time, considering the size of the floor plan, but I have some options. It can't be in a neighborhood. We'll need privacy, because of what you guys do, and enough land to preserve the value of the house after —"

"Wait, you didn't finish explaining the financing part!" Puck said. He decided ignoring Burt's outbursts was probably the best policy, but Burt seemed to have quieted down and was just standing there, rubbing his forehead and looking a little annoyed.

"Yeah, there was only so much I could actually pay for up front? But Mr. Preston's an architect, so Frances got his junior partners to do a ton of pro bono advance planning. I'm going to have to pay for the actual blueprints eventually. But, like, cost analysis, contractor bidding, I figured all that stuff out myself. Well, with the internet. Everything's there, if you know what to look for. And Lauren helped a ton." She grinned. "She's really freaking smart."

"And where are you getting the money for the materials?" Kurt asked politely.

She took a couple deep breaths. "Tatenui, don't freak out. I had Timmy help me with this part, since he's kind of an adult. We all got an inheritance when Ma died, Noah and me and Timmy? We don't get ours until we turn eighteen, but he got his now, and he agreed to invest in the house. When I turn eighteen, I'll pay it back, with interest." She wasn't flipping pages now, she was just looking into Burt's face with a pleading expression. "Don't freak out."

"You said that already," he said. "Am I freaking out?"

"I'm just waiting. Adults are so weird about money. So right now mortgage rates are pretty low, but they're supposed to go down again, so I think you should get a construction loan instead, and then refinance at the end? Timmy has enough for the down payment on a construction loan and a land contract. If you can sell your house, and Carole can sell hers, there'll be enough money to pay for most of it, and you can mortgage the rest. I priced it out, and Jenny — she's the contractor who had the best bid — has creative ideas about how we can do some of the construction ourselves. And maybe I asked Tess for a little help. We can afford this."

"Are you done now?" Burt asked.

"No, I haven't played the guilt card yet." Sarah looked from Puck to Kurt, then back to Burt. "You talked about taking things away from me? Well, consider that my brother went away. Noah, living at that apartment, has been the suckiest thing ever, way suckier than my Ma dying. The only reason I'm not camped out on his couch every night he's not here is because it would get you in trouble with the social work people. Who, by the way, are going to totally love this new house." She took Puck's hand in her own small one. "Now Finn's moving back in, and you're moving back in, and the baby and Carole. It's going to feel too small again really soon. I am  _not_  going to let you guys run away again." She set her notebook down. "Okay. I'm done."

Kurt was crying again, and Puck thought maybe Burt might start crying himself any second if anybody said anything more about a house, so he suggested, "How about Sarah and me make dinner, and you go call Carole or something?"

The first thing Puck did when Kurt and Burt were gone was hug Sarah until she was squirming to get away.

"That guilt card worked," he said. "Stand still and let me hug you. And you can camp on my couch any time you want."

"I can't really," she said, shaking her head. "He wasn't kidding about him getting in trouble, if social services found out. I can't do that to him. But maybe I can guilt-trip you into moving back sooner? I already tried blackmailing Carl into kicking you out of his apartment, but he said no." She shrugged. "Anyway. Oh, Tess said she can get us a deal on stone for the outside part of the house."

He sighed. "You really think you're going to get Burt to let you do this?"

"I know it's a lot," she insisted. "I know you guys are probably moving away someday. Probably we'll end up with this big house that'll be kind of hard to sell in Lima, although I'm already working on how to handle that. But you guys are  _not_  going to break up because of a stupid house, not when I can do something about it." She clutched at him. "Noah, I can  _fix this."_

"We're not going to break up, squirt," he said, but she shook her head vigorously.

"You  _might._  Finn moved out once already, and Kurt is  _awful_  when Finn and Adam aren't around, and you're going to have a  _kid…_ we need rooms… and don't say 'buy a house that's already built' because it won't be good enough, not for all the stuff we all need…."

She was clearly starting to run out of steam. Puck tugged her by her arm and sat down on the chair next to her, hugging her some more while she quieted.

"Okay," he said. She looked at him.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, I'll move back in," he said. "Burt's got his room ready for me. I can live in it. And I probably will freak out, but… you're right. We need to be together. It's not just about me."

She stayed in his arms for a while.

"Did you even like living alone?" she asked.

"Not really," he admitted. "There were some good parts. But the bad parts were worse." He rested his head on her, and she didn't complain. "You not being there was definitely a bad part."

"And Kurt."

"Yeah, that too. Finn was there kind of a lot, but that meant Kurt was unhappy, because he was with me instead of here. Another bad part." He hesitated. "You don't really think I corrupted you with my sex stuff, do you? That was a joke?"

"I have no fucking idea," she said, aggravated. "This is my life. I like it. I don't really care who thinks it's bad for me, because it's  _my life,_  and  _I like it."_

"Okay," he said meekly. "Fuck, you're scary when you're doing research."

She brightened at that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We should make dinner now. And don't ask Burt anything else about the house until he brings it up."

Sarah clearly didn't like that idea, but she didn't argue with him either, and she made her corn pudding without being asked. They heard Carole and Finn coming in about the time Puck was pan-saucing the chicken, but Puck just looked at Sarah, and they both kept on working. The subdued conversations happening outside the kitchen didn't sound encouraging.

Finn paused in the doorway as they were getting the dishes out of the cupboards. He gave Sarah a sympathetic hug.

"So you think your principal called Burt because you were caught skipping school?" he asked.

"I guess," she said. "They didn't actually catch me, but… that's all I could think that it might be?"

Finn helped them set the table, staying close to Puck. Kurt was happiest of all of them, because he had all his people around except for Adam, but the rest of them were mostly quiet. Sarah said nothing, even when Burt complimented her corn pudding.

Finally he sighed and set down his fork, and glanced over at Carole.

She said, "Sarah…"

"Don't tell me we can't," she said fiercely. "I have a lot more underhanded shit I can pull, way worse than the guilt card." She took another bite of chicken and chewed angrily.

"I was going to say," Carole said, "that you shouldn't use your money to pay for a down payment on a house. That's your money for college. You should let us handle the down payment on the house."

Sarah slowed her chewing. She gave Carole an appraising look. "I'm not going to pay for college. I'll get a full scholarship."

Puck coughed. "She probably will."

Carole and Burt exchanged more completely impossible adult looks before Sarah spoke again. "It's an investment. Maybe a stupid one, but you can bet I'll find a way to make money on it, unless the housing market completely tanks between now and the time we sell. But this isn't about money. It's about us, having the kind of house we need for our totally weird family. You can count on it getting bigger. There is  _no_  fucking reason —"

"Sarah," Burt said, and she took a breath and went on.

"There is  _no_  reason I shouldn't put my money into something I believe in. Timmy's money, really, but I will pay him back, so it's  _my_  investment. And he's going to let me, because he knows I can make good on it."

Carole nodded. "Okay. We'll table that for now, but you're making sense. I want to talk to all the adults involved in this project, and your friend at school — Lauren? Would she come over for dinner?"

Sarah thought about it. "Maybe. She doesn't really like people very much."

"Okay. But your architects, your contractor… you'll have to introduce me to all of them. And walk me through the whole project, start to finish." Carole tried to give Sarah a stern look. She wasn't very good at it, and it came off mostly reproachful. "Timmy will have to let us cosign for anything he agrees to borrow from you."

"You don't need a cosigner," Sarah began, but she saw Puck's expression and subsided. "Okay, whatever. I can explain everything, and make appointments to talk to everybody one at a time. Maybe start with the architects, so you can see the blueprints. But I promise, everything's legitimate."

Carole looked at Burt again, who had managed to keep his mouth shut throughout this conversation by drinking his way through two beers. He set the second one down.

"I'm not saying yes," he said. "You tricked me into this, and I won't say yes until I'm sure it's really possible. And I'll say again, I don't like you using your money."

"But you'll let me do it?" Sarah said quickly.

He fixed her with a look. "I'm going to talk to your principal on Tuesday, and he's going to ask me why you've been cutting school. And what am I going to tell him? I can't keep control of my own foster daughter?"

"Tell him I'm bored," she moaned. "Tell him I'm a regular ordinary teenager. Tell him the truth. Tell him anything you want. Just, please, let me do this. This is going to  _work,_  I promise."

Burt clearly had no more words. When Sarah opened her mouth again, Puck said, "There's dessert," and she went back to being silent. They ate the pumpkin crumb cake, and it tasted fine, but nobody said anything about it.

Puck brought Sarah with him when he went downstairs. Kurt and Finn came with them. She sat on the green couch and played hearts with them, and lost every hand.

"He's going to say no," she said at one point. Kurt put a hand on her shoulder.

"He's going to think about it. And Carole's on your side."

"We all are," said Finn. "It's a great idea."

"We should probably stop redecorating your room," Kurt said. Sarah looked up from her hand and made a face.

"Fuck that. Your dad already told me I could."

"'Your dad'?" Kurt said softly.

Sarah covered her face and began to cry.

"I told you, I'm moving back in," Puck said. He moved in as close to her as he could get, wedging into the corner of the couch with her. She was sitting so far back that her feet didn't even reach the floor. "And so is Finn." He reached a hand out and whacked Finn on the arm.

"Yeah, I am," Finn said hurriedly. "As soon as possible."

"I'm  _right,"_  she snapped through her tears. "This is the best thing for us. For our  _family."_

"Sarah, you can't fix relationships with a house," Kurt said. "This is going to work because we love each other, and we want to stay together, even though it's hard. Even though it's  _really_ hard, sometimes, it's still worth it. The house would be wonderful, on top of that."

"No," she insisted, scrubbing her face. "No, a home is more than a house. It's all the things about living that you need, the things that make you happy and whole and satisfied. Sometimes a home is just the people, but that's not enough most of the time. Sometimes it's about the stuff, or the way it's arranged. Sometimes it's the rooms, or the layout of the rooms. Sometimes it's the smell or the way it sounds." She sighed. "We need to start with  _enough space._  Eight people is a lot."

"Eight?" Finn said blankly.

Sarah counted on her fingers. "You, your mom. Kurt, his — Tatenui. Me and Puck. The baby. And whoever comes next."

"'Whoever comes next' isn't a person," he argued.

"Odds say there will be one," she shot back. "You'd better be ready for it. _I_ am."

She disappeared into her room before the game was over, shut her door, and didn't come out again. Puck knocked as they were shutting out the lights downstairs before bed, but she didn't respond.

"It'll be okay," he told Finn, who seemed to be the most distraught. "She gets obsessive sometimes."

Finn had another question while they were brushing their teeth. "You think she's really serious about paying for her own college?"

"I think she has a damn good chance of getting a scholarship someday," he said. "But who the fuck knows? She's in sixth fucking grade."

Kurt smiled as they all converged on his bed, pulling back the covers. "I still love it when we all sleep here."

"Yeah." Finn climbed in first, opening his arms to Kurt, who was most willing to be in the middle. "I think I'd like it more if I didn't hang off the end of your bed."

"We could get a king-sized mattress," Kurt said. "I could put my dressing table in storage. I think we could make it fit if I did that."

"You're not going to convince me you really want to give up your dressing table." Finn kissed his cheek. "I can deal with this mattress a while longer."

Puck sat on the edge of the bed, shedding his t-shirt. "I kind of can't believe Mercedes called your dad to talk about me being a slave."

"She's amazing," Finn agreed. Kurt smiled.

"I know someone who's an expert on being a slave," Kurt said.

They all looked at Finn. He looked startled.

"I don't know how I would feel about Carl training you," he said slowly.

Kurt reached back and rested a gentle hand on Finn's face. "I was talking about Angela."

"Yeah?" said Puck. "You think she'd talk to me about it?"

"Definitely," Finn agreed, sounding relieved. "Yeah. I think she'd do that."

It took another ten minutes before the house was quiet enough for Puck to assume everyone was actually asleep, or at least not coming downstairs. He considered getting up to lock the door, but they hadn't ever done that before, and he decided he didn't want to set that precedent.

"I think," he said, "if I'm going to be here, I need to figure it out. The slave thing. I want to do it right, you know?"

"Sweetheart." Kurt clasped him tighter. Being held that way in Kurt's lap was enough to nudge Puck well on his way to getting turned on, but at the moment, his goal wasn't to get off.

"I know, I know, you like me the way I am, whatever. I'm talking about doing it right for  _all_  of us. Lady Tess told me I need to let go more. I think if I'm going to do that, I need to be… safe." He tried not to say it like he would if he were being Puck. "I think I need to wear the collar. My collar. I need you to put it on me when I'm here. And, um." He took a few more deep breaths. "I need you to call me Noah."

Kurt didn't say anything. He just hung on to him, continuing with the gentle kisses, until Puck felt calm again.

"You don't really like being called that," Finn said. "I mean, that's what you told me."

"I said that because I thought I needed to be an asshole to survive," Puck told him. "You know, how Rachel says she needs applause to live? I thought I needed fear. If people didn't fear me, I was worthless. So, yeah. Puck. The mohawk, too. Everything."

"So what  _do_  you need to live?" Finn asked quietly. He hadn't moved from being the biggest spoon, but his hands were wrapped securely around Kurt's arms, so that he was touching both of them, and his hands were providing Puck as much support as he could give from there.

"Air, water, shelter," Puck began. Finn's hand shifted south to swat his bottom once, and he grinned. "Oh, you mean what do I  _want?"_

"I think Sarah's project kind of answered that for all of us," Kurt replied. "I have to admit, it looked amazing. Did you see that floor plan? I barely had a chance to look at all the detail, but… living in a place like that would be fantastic."

"We don't need anything that extravagant," Finn said. "And there's no way my mom and your dad could afford it, even if they did sell both houses. Even little houses are expensive." He touched Puck with one hand and Kurt with the other. "I have what I need."

Judging by his cooing, Kurt thought that was the most touching sentiment in the world, but it just made Puck shake his head.

"You're a fucking sap, Finn," he said. "Sarah was right about this place. We'll all move back in here, and it'll start feeling crowded again in a couple weeks. And we'll have to go through this shit all over again."

Finn sighed. "I think we should just get some sleep, all right?  _Noah?"_

Puck wasn't sure he could describe what being called  _Noah_ , in that tone, did to him. Hearing it from Kurt, and even Finn, was enough to toss him right into submission most of the time. He felt Kurt's arms around him, Finn's hands on him, and he closed his eyes.

When he woke up in the middle of the night, he could remember only fragments of the dream that woke him. He knew it had included the boy from the bar, and his daughter, and it had been terrifying. He lay there, awake and alone, shivering, wondering if he should wake somebody or not. He reached for his phone and sent a text.

_I'm sorry I didn't call much this week._

Adam's reply came about five minutes later.  _It's all right, honey. I know you were with your girl._

 _Yeah, that's over now. All new drama's taking its place._ He sighed.  _Fuck, I miss you._

This time the reply took ten minutes. Puck thought he might have dozed a bit while he waited.

 _I talked to Nightline on Saturday about the music that inspired me_ , Adam said _. I mentioned Gaga and Bowie. Wish I could have mentioned you and Kurt._

Puck dropped the phone and rolled over to huddle against Kurt's chest until he woke up.

"I miss you," Puck whispered. "I miss Sarah. I miss Finn. Fuck everything. I don't care if I have to sleep in a shoebox."

Then he moved down Kurt's body and gave him what sounded like the world's most intense blow job. Maybe it was due to nothing more than the fact that he had barely seen him at all that week, but it felt like something he  _had_ to do.

When Kurt was done, Puck felt arms taking him and rolling him onto his back, spreading him open. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound of Finn's rough breathing as he knelt over him and fucked him with short, quick thrusts. Puck came twice before Finn was done. By then the bed was sweaty and sticky, but Puck didn't care one bit, and he guessed neither of the other two did either.

"I would have just gone to sleep and ignored you two," he said to Kurt and Finn in the morning. "Like, it didn't  _matter_  that two super-hot guys were in my bed? That is fucked. I can't ever take that for granted, no matter how much other stuff I'm dealing with."

He sent a quick text apology to Adam for ditching him in the middle of his conversation the night before, knowing he'd get it later. On his way into school, he took Kurt's hand and held it, glaring at anyone who walked by and looked askance at them.

"We are not going to take shit from anybody," he said. Kurt, wisely, said nothing.

In Glee, when Mr. Asshole Bryan Ryan came in and asked them what their dreams were, Puck confidently wrote  _threesome,_  because his boyfriends were exactly what he wanted, and the rest was just gravy. Watching Mr. Ryan throw them in the trash didn't bother him. His dreams were worth more than paper. But the way Mr. Ryan was intimidating Mr. Schue, that pissed him off more than a little.

"You think I can break the rules a little, Mr. Schue?" he called after Mr. Ryan left. "Maybe mess him up, kind of?"

"You're  _not_  going to throw  _him_  in the dumpster," Mercedes declared. That made Matt and Tina and Artie laugh, which wasn't Puck's goal, but at least it was something.

Mr. Schue shook his head, looking defeated. "I'm sorry," he said in a subdued voice. "I shouldn't have let him come and talk to you at all. I knew exactly what he was going to say, and the last thing I want to do is steer you away from your dreams. They're  _yours,_  no matter how improbable."

"Well, yeah," said Santana, "but isn't it a stupid idea for us to graduate from high school thinking we might get to be the next big thing? He was right, that most of us won't ever leave Lima." She tossed her ponytail. "Not me, of course. I'm out of here."

"Dreams aren't supposed to be  _likely,"_  Kurt said loftily. "They're what you want if you could have anything."

"And then you work toward them, one step at a time," Rachel added. "Methodically. Intentionally."

Mr. Schue nodded. "And life is what happens when you're on your way there. Sometimes it's what you want, and sometimes it's unexpected. But it's still yours." His eyes hardened. "And you don't have to justify it to anybody."

Kurt was waiting for Puck after class, watching Mr. Schue sitting at his desk in his office with sad eyes. He took Puck's hand as soon as he offered it.

"I don't know what to do about that," Kurt told him in an undertone. "I think Mr. Ryan has something on Mr. Schue, and he's taking it out on Glee club, just to hurt him."

"I think you need to let him and Toby handle it." He held up Kurt's hand. "And come with me to the garage to look at my car. What color screams  _sex shark?"_

Kurt smiled at him. "I have Cheerios practice. But you can tell me about it at home tonight." He looked hopefully at Puck, who nodded.

"Yeah, I'll go move a truckload of my shit back to your dad's. I think I'm gonna hang out with Sarah after she gets home. Try to get her out of her funk, you know?"

"You're a good brother," Kurt told him.

It wasn't quite the same as being told  _You're a good boy,_  but from Kurt, it felt almost as meaningful. He carried the warm feeling home with him. Even Shelby noticed on the phone.

" _You're in a better mood than you were on Friday,"_  she said.  _"Did things work out with Mercedes after all?"_

"Not like that. Still friends, I think. I don't have too many friends who are girls, but she's awesome in a lot of ways."

" _Hey, what am I?"_  Shelby didn't sound mad, though.

"Fuck if I know," he shrugged. "You're Shelby. You're… the only one I talk to on the phone, except Max. I don't even talk to Kurt on the phone."

" _I'll gladly accept that honor. When are you and your friends going to make it back to Akron?"_

"I have no idea. Tonight I'm moving out of the apartment and back into Kurt's dad's office. That's gonna take a while."

" _Would it sound too much like a mom thing if I said I was glad you wouldn't be living on your own anymore?"_

He grinned, thinking of Tess. "You're not the only one telling me that. I'm trying to do the responsible thing, even if it's hard. Trust me, it doesn't come naturally. But I don't want to let Kurt down."

" _I think you're doing the right thing for yourself, too. Raising this kid on your own wouldn't be good for either of you."_

There was a chiming noise, then he heard a car door slam. "Did you just get home?"

" _I'm at the Cleveland airport, to pick up Jesse from his spring break trip."_

 _Jesse St. James._ Puck frowned. "You know I think he's kind of an asshole."

She laughed.  _"He is. And you know I am, too?"_

"You think so?"

" _Most definitely."_

He thought about that while he was wrapping his dishes in t-shirts and carefully packing the contents of his spice cabinet. Packing the rest of the apartment wouldn't take much time at all, and he'd come back later to clean.

After everything was loaded into the truck, he called her back. "What do you mean, you're an asshole?"

" _I'm in the car with Jesse,"_  she said mildly.

"So what? You picked up the phone. I want you to tell me exactly how you think you're an asshole."

He heard her sigh.  _"You know the answer. You recognized that, long before you knew me. It's because I know what I want, and I'll do anything I have to to get it."_

"No, see, that's the thing," he said. "That  _was_  before I knew you. That first time you had me over, I knew you were making dinner and talking to me so you could get information out of me and manipulate me into shutting up about you and Carl. But that's not what happened the next time, or the time after that. That's not what's happening now. As far as I can tell, now you're being nice to me just — because."

There was a silence. Puck leaned against the dented, rusty bed of the truck, fiddling with his keys, waiting.

" _Sounds like you know me pretty well,"_ she said.  _"Maybe you should listen to what you know. I'll talk to you later."_

He stared at his phone for a while after she hung up. Then he looked up. Through the tinted glass of Carl and Davis' office, he could see the shadow of Angela at her desk, filing papers.

The bell dinged as he pushed open the front door, and she smiled pleasantly at him.

"You don't have an appointment today, do you?" she asked.

"No. I was thinking I should make one, though. Two, actually. One with Davis, and one with you."

Angela's smile didn't falter, but she tilted her head. "With me? What for?"

"About what you do for Carl. When you're not here. You know."

She made a few taps on her keyboard. "Puck, I do that for Dr. Howell all the time. It doesn't matter where we are. But I would be happy to arrange a time to talk with you about it. How's three-thirty after school tomorrow with Dr. Lawton?"

"Sounds good," he agreed. "And with you?"

"I'll have to check with Dr. Howell first," she said. After a moment, she glanced up, then back at her screen. "To get permission, to talk to you."

Puck felt a shiver go through him.  _Permission,_  he thought longingly. "You, uh. You have to ask for that a lot?"

"For most things, we have a prior arrangement. It's the only way I'm able to make decisions on his behalf." She smiled to herself. "Neither the house nor the businesses would run very smoothly if I didn't have some autonomy. But in this case, it's an unspecified duty. Asking is an important formality."

He thought about all the times he said he'd call Adam when he didn't, and the long list of things he'd decided to do on his own that turned out to be bad decisions. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Finn, uh, said he'd do that for me. That I should ask, and he would… tell me if I could do it. But I kind of stopped doing that after the shit went down about my daughter."

"You might consider trying it again," she said. "It can be a reminder that you respect them, even if they give you the freedom to make your own decisions."

Puck thought about it on the way back to the Hummel house. He stood on the porch, holding his box of most important kitchen implements and his collar, and rang the doorbell. Burt met him at the door, frowning.

"Did you forget your key?" he asked.

"No, uh." He tried not to squirm too much. "I'm… is Kurt here? He can handle this…"

"He's got Cheerios practice until four."

Puck sighed, straightening up. "Look, I just need… I'm wondering if it's okay if I come in."

"Of course it is." Burt watched him in obvious confusion as he stepped through the door. "Puck, what is this? You're not, like, turning into a vampire or something, are you?"

"No. I'm sorry, this is coming out way weirder than it was in my head. I'm gonna put this stuff in the kitchen."

Sarah came up from the basement as soon as she heard him, going straight out to the truck and bringing in an armload of Puck's things without asking. Burt followed them out to help. It only took them about a half hour to unload the whole thing. Burt set his electric guitar in the corner of the study and looked around at the bare room.

"You're gonna need some more furniture."

"No," he said quickly. "I mean, thanks, but… I'm already feeling weird about this. I'd rather not take any more stuff. Can I unpack in the kitchen?"

Burt was still staring at him. "Yeah. You can do anything you want, Puck. This is your —"

" _Please,"_  he said, a little too loudly. Burt stopped. Puck gritted his teeth. "Remember how I freaked out when you cleaned out this office? I'm gonna probably do that again, until Kurt gets home and — and fixes it."

Puck had most of the spices sorted back into the Hummel collection, trading out older containers for new ones, when Kurt walked through the door of the kitchen and saw him. He smiled, setting his bag down at the kitchen table. "Hi. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks," Puck said. He went over to Kurt, accepting his hug. He cleared his throat. "I'm — I think I need to ask you to — do that thing we were talking about last night."

Kurt glanced over his shoulder at his dad, sitting in front of the television, then back at Puck. "In front of my dad?" he whispered, looking aghast.

"I don't know. I think it would be kind of weird for him to see me wearing a collar." Clinging to Kurt wasn't really helping, so he went back to organizing spices. "But I'm coming out of my fucking skin here, Kurt. Angela said I should ask permission for things, so I'm trying to do that."

"Permission," Kurt murmured. He took Puck's hand and led him into the study, closing the door behind them. There was a faint scent of toner and lemon glass cleaner. It didn't smell much like home. But Kurt put the blinds down on the little window, then sat on the bed, facing him. "I don't know all the appropriate things to say, to make this right for you. But I think it worked for you pretty well last week, at Mercedes' house."

"Yeah, it did," Puck agreed. "But you're not going to have a contract with me, not like that. Are you?"

"I think that's exactly when we should have," Kurt said. "Carl and Davis can both help get the words right. You're going to be working for the house. We'll be depending on you for some things. I think it would be good to be clear about what those things are. If you still want that."

Just hearing Kurt say the words were making him relax. "Yeah, I definitely want that. Please."

"So until we can have something formal…" He reached over by Puck's pillow and picked up his collar, holding it in his hands. "Noah, would you kneel here while I do this?"

It was tempting, being on his knees in front of Kurt, but he kept his hands and mouth to himself. "Like this?"

"That's good." Kurt smiled, touching Puck's face. "You're my good boy, and I'm so glad you're going to be here with us again. This house needs you, and so do I."

It made Puck a little self-conscious, to know Sarah and Burt were on the other side of the door, but he nodded. "I want… to do a good job. For you, and everybody."

"You will," Kurt assured him. He thought for a moment. "Today, my only expectation is that you will arrange the kitchen to your satisfaction, and talk to Sarah about this week's meals. After that, I imagine you'll be in charge of them again, but that's up to the two of you."

It was a relief to have Kurt telling him. He nodded again. When Kurt held up the collar and tucked it back under his pillow, saying, "You can wear this tonight, after everyone else goes to bed," he was even more relieved.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered. Kurt leaned over and kissed him.

"Not too weird?" he asked Puck, sounding a little tentative.

"No," Puck said immediately. "Just good. Thank you."

"If you need to ask for anything else, I want you to feel free to do that."

Sarah was sitting at the dining room table with her notebook. She bounced up when they came out. "Kurt, can I use your phone? I need to call Jenny."

"Jenny?" Kurt said, handing her his phone. "I don't remember that friend."

"She's the contractor," Sarah corrected. "I had a question about the water and sewer requirements in Lima Heights. There's this one lot on the edge of town, I think it might be okay, but if we have to put in a septic field —" She paused, then into the phone, very respectfully, she said, "Hello, may I please speak to Mrs. Chapman?"

"Okay if I handle dinner tonight, squirt?" Puck said casually. She nodded. They retreated into the kitchen again, leaving Sarah to her call.

"Just when I think I understand her, she does something like this," Kurt marveled. Puck snorted.

"Don't get the wrong idea. She wasn't kidding about being bored at school, which I can understand. She's spent her whole fucking life being the good kid, taking care of bills when Ma was too drunk. She took care of all this shit, once she got old enough to read. Grown-ups trust her, which is… kind of hilarious, really." He took out pasta and felt the two tomatoes on the windowsill, making a face. He was going to have to go shopping.

"I won't offer to help." Kurt settled at the kitchen table, wearing a little smile. "I just want to be close to you, as close as you can stand. If you feel like I'm in the way, would you tell me?"

He shook his head, rummaging in the pantry. "You're not in the way, baby. This is your place."

"Is it… could it be kind of yours, too?" Kurt sounded tentative again. Puck brought the can of tomatoes and the can opener over to the table and sat down across from him.

"It's kind of mine." He touched the table. "I like your house, Kurt."

"My house." Kurt sighed. "That's all it is?"

"Maybe?" He shrugged, setting the open tomatoes on the table. "I don't know how to say what it is. I'm not so good with words."

"I just want you to be happy." Kurt reached out and clutched Puck's hands. "You're more than a… a  _thing_  to me, more than what you can do for me. Just having you here is enough for me. But I know it wouldn't be enough for you."

"I know you want the house to belong to me, but I think… I think to make it my home, what I really need is for me to belong to it." He felt the words with his tongue as he spoke them. It was close to the truth. "To all of you. To be responsible for… making it work, like I'm part of it."

"You want to be in charge of the house," Kurt said slowly, "and have us be in charge of you?"

That sounded pretty good, actually. He smiled. "I might still fuck things up. But I think I can handle dinner tonight, even if it's just pasta with tomato cream sauce."

Kurt smiled back. "I'll talk to my dad about setting up a household budget tomorrow."

"I think I can handle that, too," he said. He stood up, leaning over the table, and kissed Kurt. "And you really want to do this for me?"

"Yes," Kurt said emphatically. "I really, really do."

That made him quiver all over. "Fucking awesome," he murmured. "Dinner in an hour, sir?"

* * *

Will wouldn't have considered taking Bryan Ryan out for a drink at all if Brad hadn't brought a copy of the 1993 edition of the Thunderclap to work. He left it on Will's desk with the page marked.

_Senior class Glee Club members commemorate Lillian Adler's life and leadership with a special performance of Aerosmith's "Dream On," featuring soloists Bryan Ryan and William Schuester._

"What's this for?" he asked Brad, loosening his tie. "I think I've heard enough about Bryan today."

"I'm just doubting his sincerity," Brad said, shrugging. "You're going to assume he's doing this for political reasons, or money, or because he's trying to get back at you for some perceived slight back in high school. I think he's mad at himself for letting the music go. Talk to him. Remind him what he did, what he was."

Will shook his head, running his fingers over the yellowed photo of himself and Bryan, facing off with microphones. "He's not going to like me bringing up the past."

"Then bring the past to him," Brad suggested. "Piano Man, Will."

"Oh my god." Will hid his face in his hand briefly. "I wanted that solo so bad."

"So did he. But you can be gracious this time." Brad patted him on the shoulder. "I think alcohol might not hurt either. Take him out to the Landing Strip after work. They've got it on the juke box there."

He let out a laugh. "You're full of good advice today."

Brad's voice softened. "Yeah, and while you're at it —"

"Don't," Will said, holding up a hand. Brad sighed.

"Whatever Toby did — whatever  _you_  did — it's fixable. You  _know_  this, William."

"You don't understand." Will looked up from the closed Thunderclap to the photo of himself with Brad, Andi and Laurie on his bulletin board. Toby had taken that picture. No matter how invisible their relationship was at work, their friendship was everywhere, permeating every aspect of his life. He couldn't bring himself to say  _He might be sick, and I'm scared to death of what that means for us._

"I don't have to understand to care about you guys," Brad insisted. "You're my family. For the first time, you were making some headway in this damn relationship. You can't let little things get in your way. Trust me."

"We're taking a break," Will said. "He understands. It's just… too hard right now."

That wasn't quite true. Every time Toby called him, Will considered answering. Sometimes he even picked up the phone and thought about dialing him. It turned out that two hours drive didn't feel all that closer than two hours flight, when he was alone in his bed.

 _He's probably not alone,_  he thought, taunting himself, when he was feeling particularly self-destructive.  _Toby's never spent very long alone._  That made him feel even worse, because of course Toby had come to Ohio to be with  _him,_  and now Will was pushing him away. And if he was going to push Toby into anybody's bed, did it  _really_  have to be the kid who reminded him of Colin?

It didn't take much persuading to get Bryan to let Will buy him a beer. Sitting next to him at the bar, telling him how great he was, wasn't so different from talking up the kids when their self-esteems were ebbing. "You were one of those dudes where all the guys wanted to  _be_  you and all the girls  _wanted_  you."

Bryan gave a snort. "Not all of them."

"Okay, who was the one who got away?"

"Terri Del Monaco," Bryan said dreamily. Will almost spit out his beer. "You remember her?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she was… she was cool. I married her."

Bryan gave him an incredulous look. "No way."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Didn't work out. I mean, it was great. I really loved her, and… we just grew apart."

"But what about…" Bryan paused, then shook his head. "I thought for sure I had heard…"

Will glanced at him nervously. "What?"

"Nothing," Bryan said. He took another sip of his beer. "Too bad about Terri."

Will faced Bryan. "You know what gave me the strength to finally get out of a terrible marriage? Music. Meeting those kids… coaching Glee club… I mean, you're right, I'm never going to be on Broadway. But Glee club is not just about expressing yourself to everyone else, it's about expressing yourself to yourself."

Bryan deflated, his head landing on the bar with a muffled  _thud._  "I'm living a lie," he mumbled.

"What?"

He let out a little sob. "I miss it so much. I am  _miserable._  Ever since I stopped performing, I cannot  _stand_  my life. Three times a year, I tell my wife I'm going off to a business trip, and I sneak off to New York and see a bunch of Broadway shows. I have a box of Playbills hidden away in my basement." He sniffed. "Like  _porn."_

It was too good an opportunity to waste. Will started the jukebox playing "Piano Man," sang half of the first verse, and Bryan was hooked.

But Will could only think of Toby, and the way he'd done almost the same thing every year in Denver, sneaking away to see his performances without Terri or even Toby knowing about it.  _Like porn,_  indeed. He let himself cry a little along with Bryan, and stood very close to him while he threw out the final hook.

"Lima Theater Guild is doing a production of Les Mis," he said. "Auditions are tomorrow — and  _both_  of us are trying out."

Bryan nodded, his eyes full of tears, and hugged Will gratefully. "Thank you," he choked. "You have no idea what this means to me."

They stayed through the rest of Piano Man, and Kansas' "Carry On Wayward Son," .38 Special's "Hold On Loosely," Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love," and six or seven other forgettable rock anthems. The beers kept coming, and although Will wasn't sure who'd ordered the most recent round, he was pretty sure he shouldn't drive home. Bryan was clearly trashed, alternately shouting and crying about every other lyric.

"How about I call you two a cab," offered the bartender. Will nodded gratefully. Neither Brad nor Emma needed to see him like this. He paid their tab and helped Bryan make his way into the back seat of the waiting car.

"Don't make me go home, Will," Bryan begged. "That soulless, silent tomb… we don't even own a CD player."

He sighed, thinking about the disaster the last time he'd let someone crash on his couch. At least Bryan wasn't going to try to seduce him, like April had. "All right. You can stay at my place."

Bryan leaned on his shoulder, hiccuping and singing along under his breath to the song on the radio. "You're the only one who understands," he crooned, snuggling closer to Will.

Will stumbled a little as he paid the driver — this was getting to be a mighty pricy endeavor — and buzzed them into his apartment building. He unlocked the front door, then turned to face Bryan, prepared to explain where the bathroom was.

And Bryan was all over him, his hands fumbling for Will's hair and planting messy kisses across his jaw. "Hey," he yelped, trying to edge away, "I — I don't —"

"Face it, Will," Bryan slurred, "you're just like me. Stuck in an unhappy marriage… I knew the stories I heard were true."

"Stories?" It wasn't like Bryan was unattractive. Or, okay, maybe Will had had an angry crush on him once, but now — he put both hands on Bryan's chest. "Bryan…  _Bryan._  Stop."

"C'mon." His fingers brushed over Will's lips, his own mouth parted in a challenging smile. "You can't tell me you don't want it. I know better."

"We can't do this," he insisted. "I'm — I'm in a relationship."

"So am I. Remember, the-love-of-my-life?" Bryan said it quickly, like it was a title. His hand tucked into the waistband of Will's jeans. "You are a very naughty boy, Will Schuester."

He couldn't deny his body's response, but he held Bryan off with firm hands. "I'm not going to make this mean anything more than what it is. Two guys who've had a little too much to drink. And now I'm going to call you a taxi home."

"Woo. Wull.  _Will._ " Bryan shook his head, now despondent. "Don't make me do that. I can't go home like this. Wilma'll kill me. I can't even sing her an apology ballad. Just — let me sleep on your couch. I won't mess with you."

Will thought he might be being kind of a pushover, because what was to keep Bryan from doing anything, really? He frowned at him. "Give the Glee Club back their funding."

"Yes!" Bryan gasped. "I'll do it. Just don't make me go home."

Will found Bryan passed out and snoring on the couch by the time he returned with a pillow and a blanket. As he covered him up, Will wondered what would have happened if Bryan had showed up a year ago, before Toby had moved to Ohio. Of course, the Glee Club wouldn't have had any funding to take away a year ago. He hoped, as he brushed his teeth and collapsed into unconsciousness, that Bryan would remember their conversation tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frances sits in on a surprising conversation with Sarah and the principal. Puck talks with Angela about slavery and Davis about bedrooms. Carl yells at Jesse and Shelby before attempting to make Finn do his homework. Toby comes to Jake's house for another dance lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this chapter in the woods, the same place I was when I wrote chapter 27 of Waking Dreams in 2011. It's amazing what a location can do to inspire. No substantial warnings here. I think Valentine's Day at Tessera got all the p0rn out of my system for a while. 
> 
> Fun fact: episode 1x19 Dream On was directed by Joss Whedon! 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> -amy

After school on Tuesday, Frances was surprised to see Sarah on the bench in front of the principal's office, her arms around her knees. She set her violin on the floor and sat down beside her on the bench.

"Are you in trouble?" Frances asked anxiously.

"Kind of." Sarah didn't seem all that concerned, but she never was about stuff like that. She grinned. "It's about the house project. I told Tatenui about it."

"Oh," Frances said. The house project, about which she'd happily agreed to be Sarah's confidant, had been elevated in Frances' mind to almost mythical status. When Sarah asked her to involve her dad and his architecture firm, she'd balked, but only briefly. He liked Sarah, after all, and he appreciated getting involved on such an intriguing project. But now… Frances swallowed. "Are you really done with it?"

"No, Tatenui found out about it early. Principal Hartford called him."

"I — I hope you don't get into a lot of trouble."

Sarah tossed her head. "You mean you hope  _you_  don't get into trouble. Don't worry, I won't tell anybody you knew I was skipping school. You didn't break any rules."

Frances shuffled her ballet flats on the linoleum, feeling unsettled. Now that the chance had passed, Frances kind of wished she  _had_  helped Sarah break some rules. Sarah always managed to make rule-breaking feel glamorous and exciting, instead of terrifying. "Thanks."

Sarah nodded, resting her cheek on her knees. "I don't know if he's going to let me do it or not."

"Sarah…" Frances glanced through the window at Mrs. Jeffreys, working at the front desk. "Did you ever really think he was going to let you go through with it? I mean, Kurt's dad isn't going to let you build a house. You're  _eleven."_

"I'm going to try to make Carole let me," she said. "When we talk, she's listening to the logic of it, trying to make it make sense. But Tatenui already  _knows_  it doesn't make any sense." She shrugged. "I don't care. He wouldn't have decided to adopt me in the first place if he thought it made sense."

Frances wrinkled her nose. "Now  _you're_  not making any sense."

Sarah slid an arm around Frances' waist and transferred her head to Frances' shoulder. It took Frances just a startled moment to get used to that before she put her own arm around Sarah.

"I know," said Sarah. "I'm not going to freak out. Just… would you stay here with me until they're done in there?"

They waited a good fifteen minutes, not really saying anything. Frances considered bringing up adventure camp, which she'd discovered almost by accident while reading the bulletin board in her advisory class. It sounded fantastic, promising to teach orienteering and backwoods camping and survival skills. She wasn't sure how Sarah would react to the idea of her leaving for a month during the summer, now that they were home friends. She wasn't even sure how  _she_  would handle it. Half the time, she was at Sarah's house, or Sarah was at hers, and they both seemed to like it that way. Being apart from Sarah for a month was an entirely different question from being apart from her parents.

And then she thought about saying something about her twelfth birthday coming up next week, and how she wanted to do something to celebrate, but she didn't quite know how to tell her mother that she didn't want to have a party. As always, her mother wanted her to invite all her school friends and dress up and make it an uncomfortably formal affair. Sarah would definitely be on Frances' side, and she could use a dose of Sarah's courage.

When the door to the office opened, Sarah didn't look up, but Frances felt Sarah's body stiffen. She held on a little tighter with her arm.

"Sarah," said Mrs. Jeffreys gently, "the principal would like you to come in now."

Sarah turned her eyes toward Frances. They were more scared than Frances had seen since them look since Sarah's mother had died. "Come in with me," she whispered.

"I — don't know if I can," Frances said. But Sarah held tight to her hand, towing her inside.

Frances had never been  _in trouble,_  not the kind that would take her into Principal Hartford's office to sit across from his big desk and face his wrath. Actually, Frances had never seen Principal Hartford be wrathful about anything. He was short and a little soft and wore fastidious suits, and mostly seemed pretty safe.

He smiled at Sarah, but paused when he saw Frances.

"Frances, I need to speak with Sarah for a moment."

"She's staying." Sarah said.

Frances glanced apologetically at Mr. Hummel and Mrs. Hudson, waiting in the chairs. Before Principal Hartford could respond, Sarah had pulled Frances down into the chair beside her, still holding her hand with both of hers. The principal opened his mouth, then closed it and looked at Mr. Hummel.

"It's okay," Mr. Hummel said. "Sarah, you're not in trouble. This is all a mix-up."

"Apparently, your foster father thought my phone call was about you skipping class," Principal Hartford said. "But we have no record of that happening. Your attendance has been excellent."

"I thought," Sarah said carefully, "that it had been."

Frances thought Mrs. Hudson might be trying not to laugh, but Mr. Hummel looked completely sober. "I told your principal about your project. Turns out he knew about that, too."

"Maybe not the  _extent_  to which it had grown," Principal Hartford added. "Mr. Loughner, your homeroom teacher, was the one who brought the project to my attention. He's been quite impressed with your work. Although your other teachers have explained to me that you have been working on it during their class time as well." He leaned across the desk toward Sarah. "You know you have to do the work in your other classes, too."

Sarah was gripping Frances' hand harder now. "I did it all," she said, her voice tense. "And all my other classes are boring."

"Sarah," Mr. Hummel said quietly. The principal was chuckling.

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear you say that, after speaking with your teachers. They did indeed report you've done all your work, and it has been exemplary." He turned to Mr. Hummel and Mrs. Hudson. "One of the things we watch for in these situations is how students manage socially. Sarah has shown every indication of getting along just as well with her older peers as her grade-level classmates."

"She has two big brothers," Mrs. Hudson said. Sarah looked like she might want to object to that statement, but she didn't say anything.

"Yes, and her record has been flawless. Ordinarily we do not recommend double-promotion, but every now and then, a student comes along for whom it might be appropriate."

"Double-promotion," Frances said, surprising herself. "You mean skipping a grade."

He nodded. "Sarah's fifth grade teacher made some comments in her file to that effect. She wanted to see how Sarah managed middle school before making a formal recommendation, but she thought she might be ready for double promotion. With all the upheaval in Sarah's life this year, of course, the idea was set aside, but you are invited to think seriously about it for next year."

Mr. Hummel turned to Sarah. "Well, I think I got all the information I need. Sarah, you got any questions for your principal about this business?"

Sarah seemed startled to hear the question. "You think I should do it?" she asked Mr. Hummel.

"I think that's a bigger question than we can answer right now," he said. "Let's go home and sleep on it, okay?"

The principal turned to Frances and regarded her frankly. "And how about you? You and Sarah are friends."

"Best friends," Sarah corrected. He nodded, still looking at Frances.

"As her best friend, do you think Sarah would be happier if she had more of a challenge, working with older students?"

Frances hadn't expected to be asked any questions at all, but she nodded. "Sarah gets along with everybody. She has lunch with seventh and eighth graders all the time."

She wanted to add that working with older students wouldn't necessarily present any more of a challenge for Sarah, considering the average eighth grader wouldn't be any smarter than the average seventh grader, but she thought that might make her sound a little full of herself. So she stayed quiet while Mr. Hummel and Mrs. Hudson and Sarah shook the principal's hand and returned to the hallway.

As soon as Mrs. Jeffreys closed the door, Sarah crossed her arms and glared at the wall. Mrs. Hudson put an arm around her, in much the same way Frances had earlier.

"Yeah, that wasn't what I was expecting," said Mr. Hummel. He still wasn't smiling.

"What a compliment," Mrs. Hudson said enthusiastically. "He wasn't just talking about your academics, Sarah. Your principal thinks you're mature enough to handle being around older kids."

Sarah's eyebrows settled low on her forehead. "Yeah. I'll pass."

Mrs. Hudson's smile dimmed a little. "Like Burt said, you don't have to make a decision yet —"

"Screw him and his double promotion," she said distinctly, shouldering her backpack. Then she took off, leaving Frances standing there awkwardly beside Mrs. Hudson. Mr. Hummel sighed.

"Sorry, Frances," he said. "I hear your dad helped Sarah out with this, uh, this house thing."

It might have been the tension associated with Sarah's dramatic exit, but Frances wasn't going to let Mr. Hummel talk about Sarah's project like  _that. House thing,_  indeed.

"It's amazing," she said, rather more loudly than she meant to. "She's been working on it forever, every chance she gets. She really believes —" Frances closed her mouth when she realized the way both grownups were watching her. She straightened up and tried to hide her embarrassment. "Believes it would be — best. The best thing, for all of you."

Mrs. Hudson was smiling, but it didn't feel to Frances like she was laughing at her. "I know she does, honey. Can we give you a ride home?"

* * *

Angela greeted Puck at the door when he arrived at the office after school.

"Mr. Lawton said I could meet with you first," she said, and smiled conspiratorially. He had to grin back. "There's a table in the back where we can sit and not be interrupted."

Puck wondered if she'd lock the door or take the phone off the hook, but instead Angela called Davis on the phone, saying simply, "He's here, sir."

A moment later, Davis appeared. He shook Puck's hand. "If you give me some sense of why you're meeting with me," he said, "I can let you know how much time the two of you have before your fifty minutes are up."

"It's mostly about Sarah," said Puck. "But I guess I maybe had some questions about being a… you know. A slave?"

Davis' eyes danced as he took Angela's seat at the desk. "I can tell you what I know, but that's really Carl's arena. I'm a terrible slave."

Puck laughed. "Really?"

"Later." Davis waved the query on. "Take twenty minutes with Angela. I'll try not to mess things up too much out here."

He followed Angela around the corner and through two doorways, and found himself in a workspace in a storage room. Puck had expected filing cabinets, but the shelves were lined with bins, labeled with numbers and cryptic labels, such as  _Fl, bge, 12t._

He peeked into one and whistled, pulling out a tan leather flogger. "Not office supplies, that's for sure."

"Dr. Howell has an extensive collection of tools," Angela said sedately, dipping a teabag into her mug of hot water. "They need to be well-organized in order for them to be accessible and in good condition at all times."

"That's another one of your jobs?" he asked. She nodded. "I have no idea how you have time for everything."

"I don't  _actually_  recommend 24-7 service to most people, Puck. It doesn't leave room for much of a social life. But it gives me what I need. Davis wasn't kidding about him being a terrible slave, but to be honest, I'm just as bad at ordinary personal relationships."

He tested the flogger on his thigh, then put it back and took out another one from the bin, this one with knots. "But how did you figure out that was what you wanted? It's not like I even knew that was an option until I met Lady Tess."

She stirred a packet of sugar into her cup of tea. "She's really something else, isn't she? Well. Going back to the beginning… I met Davis, and later Dr. Howell, through the theater community, while I was finishing my business degree. I was a gymnast and a dancer for most of my youth, and doing theater in college was a way to stay in touch with that."

Puck was fascinated. "He wasn't  _Dr. Howell_  back then, though."

"No, he was finishing his degree too. You'll forgive me if I continue to call him that anyway; it's been a long time since I called I called him anything else. No, Davis and I were friends then, but I barely knew Dr. Howell until years later. My marriage was… hurtful. I was pregnant, and when I lost the baby, Davis recognized what had happened."

"Your marriage was…?" He frowned. "You mean he hit you."

"He hit me because I asked him to," she clarified. "It was discipline. Which made it especially confusing when he would also do that when he was angry. He said it was because I needed it, but the truth was, he took advantage of me. It took me a long time to sort out how to handle what I wanted after that. Dr. Howell gave me a structure I could trust, and in which I could heal and begin to acknowledge my own needs again." She smiled, sipping her tea. "That's more complicated than you needed to know."

"No, I'm…" Puck stroked the tails of the flogger. "My dad. He was… he did that. I mean, not for discipline. He just got drunk and mad, and then he apologized a lot. He's still apologizing."

She nodded. "It's hard. Of course you want to trust someone you love."

"Yeah, no. I definitely don't trust him." He paused. "Well, I guess I'm trying to. I think it'd be better if I could find a way to do that again. Like what happened with me and Finn. We got through that."

"You and Finn had years of friendship and mutual respect," Angela said. "You trust him to help you raise a child."

Puck made a face. "Finn's  _so_  not ready to do that. I mean, he doesn't think I am either, but at least I  _want_  to. I'm not going to make him be a dad. He said he'd help, but I know it's not going to be like that. He's got plenty of other responsibilities. Kurt, too. They don't want to be dads yet."

She looked closely at him. "You're really planning to do this all by yourself."

He clenched the flogger. "No, I'm — no. I just think it's stupid to expect anybody to take on something  _I_  chose. None of them want to do that. Not like I do. This is for me."

"So, if that's for you…" Angela tilted her head. "Being their slave. You think you're going to make up for having a baby by doing things for them in return?"

"No." Puck laughed helplessly. "That's… kind of for me, too. I wouldn't have asked for it. Kurt  _offered._ It feels… kind of selfish, to want him to deal with me that way."

She had a pleased smile on her face. "If he offered, it's not all for you. But I'm glad you're not using it as payment. It doesn't work that way. It's service. You're doing it because you crave it, offered only to those who want to accept it from you."

"Yeah," he breathed. He set the flogger down. "And I just… I want to do it right? But Finn said he feels a little weird about Carl training me."

"That's understandable. But Puck, you're doing this for your boyfriend. You don't need formal training unless you're planning to be in service to someone else. You and Kurt can set things up any way that feels right for you. There are books, if you want to read about it. Not fiction books, but slave training manuals."

That sounded interesting. "Yeah? Better than the way Carl does it?"

She shrugged. "Different. He has his own methods. Similar enough that anyone who contracted me would be satisfied."

Puck tucked the flogger back into the box and set it back on the shelf. "How long's your contract with Carl?"

"My contract was up two years ago." She was still smiling when he swung back around to look at her with surprise, but her expression was a little bitter. "I haven't accepted any other contracts he's offered."

"Uh-huh."

Angela was kind enough not to glare at him. "I know I have to, eventually. These are my own issues. A good fit with a slave owner implies  _mutual_  trust. Dr. Howell knows I won't lie to him about that. He won't deliver me to someone I don't already trust."

"He cares about you," Puck said. Angela nodded.

"That, and because he has integrity, he will continue to feel responsibility for me, even though my training is long since completed. He promised at the beginning of my training to find a place for me, and he's going to make it happen."

Davis was still at the desk when they emerged from the storage room. Angela set her tea down and immediately began rearranging stacks of papers.

"I stuck with things in the priority C pile," he promised. "I can be taught."

"Thank you," she said. It was almost a tease, but Angela didn't talk that way to anybody as far as Puck knew. "Do you need anything else, Puck?"

"I'm good." He gave her a wave as he followed Davis into his office. "Thanks again."

Davis shut the door behind him. "So, yeah, I've always been a terrible slave because until recently, nobody could get me to want to follow directions."

"Until recently?" Puck asked.

Davis neatly avoided the unspoken question. "It's hard to punish somebody who  _likes_  to be punished. Although… did Angela tell you how we met?"

"Theater, she said?"

He grinned. "If you call Gilbert and Sullivan  _theater._  Shelby and I did two productions at the university before she took off for New York. Angela was in Iolanthe with us, and she and I became friends. It wasn't until we moved from Cleveland to Lima that she found Carl again and asked for training." He put on his professional face. "Now, tell me what I can do for you."

"It's about me and Sarah," said Puck. "You know how Kurt's dad's trying to adopt us? I really don't want my shit to get in her way. It's kind of too late to pretend me and Kurt aren't together. And we're trying not to make it weirder for social services by letting on that Finn's with us too."

"That's probably a good idea," he agreed. "My understanding is that a lot of it is just waiting for time to pass."

"Yeah, I get that. But Sarah said something about too many people in one house being a problem. What does the law say about that? We're adding one more when my daughter comes in May. That's seven." He didn't say anything about Sarah's idea about the  _one who comes next._  "Can we do seven in a four bedroom house?"

Davis frowned, tapping something into his computer. "Four bedrooms should be plenty for all of you. The federal Fair Housing Act has rules about the number of children per bedroom, and boys and girls can't share rooms after the age of five, but as long as there are egress windows, you're fine."

"Egress windows? You mean the kind you can climb out of?" Puck thought about Kurt's room in the basement. "Two of the rooms don't have any windows."

"Then they can't be considered bedrooms," Davis said, shaking his head. "Two bedrooms with seven people… if he wanted to adopt both of you, Kurt's father's house wouldn't pass inspection by the Ohio JFS. But he still might be able to negotiate a plan for adding on another bedroom before the adoption is finalized."

Puck thanked Davis for the information. It was troubling, but even more worrisome was what Angela had said about him being a papa.  _You're really planning to do this all by yourself?_

"I don't want to," he said aloud. "You deserve more than just me."

He'd dreamed about her the night before, her as a toddler, holding her on his lap and letting her pluck the strings on his guitar. The boy had been there, too, with his smile and his curly hair and his gentle hands lifting her from Puck's lap. It had felt exactly right.

But he knew that wasn't how it was really going to be. Puck had a hell of a lot of people helping him, and he wasn't going to count on an imaginary one from his dreams showing up to rescue him from single parenthood.

More than that, it was the way he'd felt when Angela was talking about  _service because you crave it._  He did crave it, more than he could explain. But how the hell was he going to be able to provide service for Kurt and everybody else if he had to be responsible for a kid all the time? He might be able to drop out of school to be her papa, but he couldn't drop out of his  _life._

_I need somebody to raise this kid with me,_  he thought. His truck started on the third crank of the ignition.  _But what do I do when there's no one who wants it, craves it, as much as I do?_  There was no apparent answer, other than to do everything he could to do his job, and to do it well.

* * *

Carl returned from Les Mis auditions to find Jesse idly shooting pool in the game room. He was pretty sure Jesse hadn't noticed the hooks on the corners of the table, and if he hadn't, Carl wasn't about to point them out. But it was still a functioning pool table nonetheless — even if Carl seldom used it for that purpose. He hoped Jesse wouldn't accidentally discover the carbon fiber rod nestled inside his pool cue. There was a reason they were affectionately called  _evil sticks._

"Back from spring break," he said to Jesse. "How was it?"

"A welcome opportunity to reflect on my situation here." Jesse took the corner shot and missed, grimacing. "Not to mention a chance to reconnect with my  _real_  friends from Carmel."

"You'll all be heading off to college soon enough." Carl picked up a pool cue and chalked the end. "I hope you've also had a chance to think about what I told you."

"Rachel? Yeah, well… you're not the only one to tell me things. I had it put to me, in no uncertain terms, that I  _was_  going to break up with her. But I can't do it yet. I have specific tasks to achieve here."

Carl paused, watching Jesse lean over the table to reach a long shot. He definitely had inherited his father's height advantage. "What do you mean?"

"It's better that you don't know, Uncle Carl," he said.

"Yeah, that answer's not going to cut it. Not while you're staying in my home."

Jesse shook his head. He looked more pensive than sad. "You can throw me out if you have to. I'm already answering to my mom. And, honestly, I should thank you for enlightening me as to the identity of Rachel's mother. Shelby's motivation's a lot more clear now."

Carl stopped his motions, staring at Jesse. "Oh, god. She didn't."

"You didn't hear it from me," Jesse said. He made a neat shot into the corner pocket, then set his cue on the table. "I should have figured it out on my own. Rachel's  _so_  much like me. But it doesn't really matter. I'm finishing what Shelby wants me to do, and then I'll head home. At least Vocal Adrenaline needs me."

Carl abandoned his own pool cue on the floor and headed back to his office, his phone already in his hand. Shelby answered on the fourth ring.

" _I don't have time for this, Carl,"_  she said briskly.  _"My choreographer's almost finished with the kids, and then I've got a new routine for them."_

"What the hell do you think you're doing with Rachel?" he hissed.

" _I'm not doing anything. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a little busy working at the moment. Which is more than I can say for you, playing your little pretend games."_

Carl should know better than to try to argue with Shelby when she was teaching. She was always at her bitchiest when she was pushing her students to do better. But this time, she'd overstepped the line. "No, this time, you've sent your minion to do the work for you."

" _This is the absolute_ _ **worst**_ _time for you to bring this —"_

"Shelby, I spoke to McKinley High on his behalf. I helped him change schools, and it turns out it was all so you could use him to spy on our daughter?"

There was a silence.

" _She has to come to me, Carl,"_  she said, her voice taut.  _"I'm not going to break our agreement."_

"No, just the spirit of it! I can't believe — when you  _knew_  how hard I've tried to stay away from her, for all these years —"

" _It's been just as hard for me!"_

" _You_ gave her up!" he shouted. "You don't get a second chance! In fact, this  _was_  your second chance, and you blew it  _again."_

" _I know."_  Between her pauses, he could hear the music in the background. Was that Lady Gaga?  _"I know I don't — I'm not looking for a relationship with her. I don't even need her to forgive me. I just need her to tell me that I can — that it's okay for me to —"_

He waited, but she didn't say anything more. He could hear her labored breathing. Even after all they'd been through, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for her.

"You know I would have helped you out," he said. "If you'd wanted to have another baby."

" _I don't want your help,"_  she spat.  _"You always want to be in charge of everything."_

He had no good response to that. All his anger had dissipated, leaving him feeling vague and unsettled. "Shelby, you can't expect Rachel to fix this. She doesn't know anything about you."

" _I'm not going to talk to her first,"_  she said, stubborn as always.  _"I've got to go."_

He cleared his throat. "I auditioned for Les Mis today."

She paused, and finally laughed.  _"Better than Penzance."_

"Hey, I was a great Pirate King," he protested.

" _Well, let me know if you get cast, and I'll come to opening night. I was thinking about doing a show myself this summer, with Clayton Pace, up in Cleveland."_

That was as close as Shelby was going to get to apologizing. Carl decided he'd better take it. "All right."

He was waiting up as usual when Finn got back from taking care of Blaine in Westerfeld. He heard the garage close as Angela departed, and two minutes later, Finn appeared in his bedroom doorway.

"Hey," Finn said, with a tentative smile. He nodded at the guitar in Carl's hands. "What are you playing?"

"It's from Les Miserables. Enjolras sings it to the male lead when he tries to distract the revolutionaries with stories about falling in love."

_Marius, you're no longer a child_   
_I do not doubt you mean it well_   
_But now there is a higher call_   
_Who cares about your lonely soul_   
_We strive toward a larger goal  
_ _Our little lives don't count at all._

Finn listened as he played, entranced. "Do you think you'll get the part?"

"Possibly. It'd keep me busy, anyway, while I'm waiting for you to come over on Wednesday nights." He poked Finn, who blushed. "I'm kidding. You don't have to get here any earlier. It's fine."

"I feel bad," Finn said. "You gave up Wednesday nights so I could drive two hours each way to see Blaine."

Carl shook his head. "Your boy needs that from you. Not always, but for now, you have to build his trust that you'll really be there for him."

"That reminds me of a song my mom used to sing to me all the time when I was small." Finn sang a brief chorus without accompaniment, letting the notes ring out:

_I was born to love you_   
_With every beat of my heart_   
_Yes, I was born to take care of you  
_ _Every single day of my life._

Finn scooted over beside him, close enough to rest his head on Carl's knee, and reached up to cup Carl's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Carl enjoyed that for a moment, then hovered close to Finn's mouth, feeling his breath on his skin. "I have two questions."

"… Okay?" Before Carl could consider if he should swat him, Finn amended, "Yes, sir?"

"First. Are you wearing plug number six?"

Finn immediately squirmed. "Yes, sir, and — I promise, I've been keeping my cool. It's not a turn-on until you bring it up. Mostly."

_Mostly._  Carl resolved to ask Finn later exactly what  _mostly_  did not include. "That's all right. And second?" He took Finn's earlobe in his teeth, while Finn whined and panted.

"What, sir?"

Carl smiled. "Do you have any homework?"

Finn froze, mid-writhe. "Uh —"

"Come on." He patted Finn's cheek sharply, then gestured at his backpack. "Either you do it now, or you're going home."

Finn grumbled, but Carl was reasonably confident Finn wouldn't pick the latter. Sure enough, within minutes, he was sprawled on the floor, his Spanish book open to chapter fourteen.

"Do you always put Spanish off until the last minute?" Carl asked.

He sighed. "I don't see any point in doing it."

Carl set his guitar on its stand. "Didn't we have this conversation a month ago, Finn? And, if I recall, it involved rather a lot more spanking."

"I mean," Finn explained quickly, "my grade already sucks. Homework doesn't help bring it up much. I just can't remember all the vocab for the quizzes."

He lay down on the floor next to Finn, propping himself up on his elbow, and laid a hand on his back, stroking lightly. "I don't suppose you'd object if I had you practice more often. Maybe in the car, using recordings."

"No, sir." Finn's voice was so glum. Carl grinned.

"It might be easier if you had something to work toward. Is there anything you've been dreaming about? Anything you could conceivably have, I mean."

He chewed his pen. "I don't know if I should be adding  _more_  to my schedule."

"Please don't tell me you've met someone else…"

"No!" Finn laughed. "Well, okay. There's one thing. I was thinking, all this time we've been playing together at Irene's, how it'd be fun to have a band."

"A band?"

"Yeah. A real rock band. Kit, guitar, bass, a couple singers." He gestured at Carl's guitar on its stand. "You and me."

"We could do that," Carl said, nodding. "And Blaine?"

"I — I suppose?" Finn's smile was so grateful, Carl wanted to push away the homework and kiss him. "Yeah?"

"Not every week, but some weeks. If you can pass your next Spanish quiz."

"It's a deal," Finn agreed, and returned to his reading, his concentration redoubled.

Carl went back to figuring out bits from Les Mis on his guitar, humming quietly under his breath. When he turned his attention back to Finn, he realized Finn's cheek was resting on the crease of his textbook, his eyes closed. He was drooling slightly.

"Finn?" Carl leaned over him, brushing Finn's cheek with his own scratchy one. When Finn didn't respond, he straddled him, sitting on his legs. "Wake up. Time to go home."

Finn moaned in his sleep. "Can't."

"Sure you can. Come on, let me help you."

"Gotta go home, Blaine," he mumbled, his voice thick. "Can't stay another night."

Carl sighed. It was clear he wasn't going to rouse Finn enough to have a meaningful conversation, much less get him safely back behind the wheel. He left Finn snoring on his book, went out to the hallway, and called Carole.

"Finn's asleep on his Spanish homework," he told her. It was a hallmark of their good relationship, or possibly the enormity of Finn's mother's love for her son, that Carole just laughed.

" _He hates coffee,"_  she said.  _"I worry about all this driving he's doing alone on Wednesday nights."_

"I think I might have found a way to get him to agree to me coming along on Wednesday nights, sometimes. For tonight, though, okay if I keep him here?"

" _If that's okay with you?"_  She sounded doubtful.

"I wouldn't make it a regular practice, but I think it's okay for tonight."

She cleared her throat.  _"My… domme."_  Carl could hear the feminine honorific.  _"She'd never let me stay overnight."_

Carl couldn't think what to say in response. "Were the two of you in a romantic relationship?"

" _Yes,"_  she said.  _"But I was quite young and living with my grandparents in Atlanta at the time. She didn't think it would be appropriate."_

"Because of your age?" he had to ask.

" _Well, I was nineteen, but… I was also pregnant with Finn. And there was the racial aspect to consider, but I don't think that really mattered to Irene."_

Carl nearly dropped the phone. "Pardon?"

" _Yes, I'm ashamed to admit she was more open-minded than I was. I'd like to think I've grown since then."_

He licked dry lips.  _Dear god. Irene and… Carole._ He didn't have the brainpower to consider the ramifications of that at the moment, and tucked it away for later consideration.

"Well," he said finally, "I'll say you're very open-minded now. And I'll make sure Finn heads out to school in plenty of time."

" _Thank you, Carl. I'll let Puck know Kurt will have to give him a ride, since Finn has his truck. Good night."_

Carl managed to whisper-talk Finn out of his clothes and into his bed without really waking him up. He turned off the lights in the kitchen and brushed his teeth, then climbed into bed beside him. He couldn't resist sliding one hand into Finn's boxers and, feeling the base of the plug secure against his ass, giving it a little nudge.

"Mine," he whispered.

Finn stirred in his sleep, and mumbled, "Yes, sir."

Carl was not a snuggly sleeper by nature, but he woke up with his arms wound around Finn, holding him from behind. He was harder than he remembered being in ages. It took all his willpower not to slip plug number six out of Finn and slide right inside him.

_Forty-five weeks remaining,_  he told himself firmly.  _Keep your cool._

"Hey." He squeezed Finn, appreciating the breadth and mass of his body. His boy wasn't  _small_  in any proportion. "You have school."

"Mmmmph." Finn slowly roused, flexing his ankles and stretching his arms over his head. When he finally blinked his eyes open, his sleepy surprise was evident. "How'd I get here?"

"You fell asleep last night while working on your Spanish. Your mother said you could stay."

"Lucky me," Finn sighed, stretching more thoroughly, his limbs reaching from one corner to the other. "Your bed's big."

"It'd need to be, to fit you inside it." Carl glanced at the clock. He could probably justify another fifteen minutes before Carl would have to make him — he sat up abruptly. "Shit."

"What?" Finn sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Where did you park Puck's truck?"

"It's around the corner, in the cul-de-sac."

"Jesse's back from spring break. We have to get you out the door and on your way without him noticing. I can't believe I forgot.  _Shit."_

Finn was already out of bed, reaching for his clothes. "I can go down the back stairs. It'll be fine. I promise I won't get caught."

Angela didn't blink an eye when she met them coming through the kitchen. "He's still in the shower," she said calmly. "Finn, can you stop at home for breakfast before school? I'm thinking you'd better not stay to eat here."

I can eat at Kurt's. It's okay." He glanced back at Carl in wistful apology. "I didn't finish my Spanish."

"We can address that later.  _Go."_

Once Finn was safely out the door, and it was evident that Jesse wasn't going to witness his presence, Carl sat at the counter, watching Angela make coffee and trying to calm down.

"Sometimes I don't know what the hell I was thinking," he said wearily. "Attempting this relationship. With everything against us, it's — I don't know."

"It's risky," Angela said.

"It's more than risky. I feel like I'm taunting myself with possibilities. Not to mention the position I'm putting him in." He rested his chin on his folded arms, staring at the wall. "I can't give him what he wants."

"Have you  _seen_  the look on his face when he's with you, sir?" She smiled. "You're giving him what he  _needs._ You don't need to give him everything for it to be a worthwhile pursuit."

He shot her what he knew was a bratty look, but Angela was the only one there to see it, and she wasn't going to tell anybody. "Did I ask for your pearls of wisdom?"

"No, sir," she said calmly, "but I suspect you need them from someone."

"Of that, I have no doubt," he agreed.

She passed a mug of coffee across the counter toward him. He took it with a nod of thanks, and she bowed her head in acceptance of his appreciation. It was a familiar ritual between the two of them, and it felt calming.

"May I ask you about your newest candidate-in-training?"

"Emma?" Carl shook his head. "I wouldn't call her a candidate. She's not ready yet. I think she has potential, but her clinical diagnosis is going to preclude any serious training I can offer. Until then, I think all I can be is her friend."

"Her boyfriend, sir?" she asked.

" _Friend,"_  he repeated. "I said friend."

"Forgive me." She bowed her head again. "I must have misheard."

* * *

Tanisha opened the door for Toby when he arrived. He raised an eyebrow at her apparel.

"I can't say I have a thing for women in uniform," he said, "but you look damn sharp in that."

"Trust me, there's nothing particularly comfortable about this." She jerked the waist down on her police jacket. "Jake's in the basement. He's working on something for you, but he wouldn't tell me what it was. You feel okay being in the house alone with him? I just got called into work, and I wouldn't impose on you, but —"

"No, no, it's fine." He waved away her concerns. "He won't get into any trouble. I'll keep him too busy for that."

"Thanks, Toby." She smiled, gathering up her things as she headed for the door. "He's been talking about you nonstop since your first visit. There's cold cuts in the fridge when you're done, and your check's on the fridge. Call me to schedule the next lesson."

Jacob was indeed working on something. It wasn't anything like the mishmash of modern dance he'd created the last time, nor was it ballet. It was, actually, what appeared to be an exact replica of a very familiar dance number from  _Kiss Me Kate._ Toby seated himself on the bottom step of the staircase and watched the slender boy's concentration with delight.

"That was Paul's routine in 'Too Darn Hot,'" he declared, as the CD track ended. "And not just any version. That was the routine written for  _me,_  when I performed it in Colorado Springs. 2006?"

"2005," Jake said, panting heavily. "It's amazing what you can find on YouTube."

That was, unfortunately, true, but Toby wasn't going to go into detail in front of a twelve-year-old. "I noticed you've been updating  _your_  YouTube channel a bit lately."

"Well, you know. I've got an audience. They're expecting new stuff kind of regularly. I try to keep it short, make 'em want more." He didn't seem to be bragging, just stating a fact. Toby smiled.

"Well, I'm flattered you'd spend the time to find it and learn it. Why don't you unpack it for me. Tell me what you did to figure out the steps."

As Toby expected, Jake ended up  _showing_  most of it, while Toby encouraged him to verbalize his thoughts. Luckily, talking didn't seem to frustrate him, and by the end, Toby had gotten him to demonstrate most of his tap-related vocabulary. Not only that, while Toby was singing along, Jake did, too.

"You've got a nice voice, there," Toby told him. Jake scowled.

"That's all I need. Joining the chorus would be instant death. Not that I  _have_  any friends anyway."

Toby accepted the bottle of water Jake passed him. "How about in a band? Or for yourself?"

"I'll stick with dance, thanks."

"Your mom said something about some online friends, last time I was here…?"

"My mom's got a big mouth." But Jake didn't look too upset. "Chris has this Internet space, kind of, for kids who go to therapy. There are a couple kids I talk to almost every day. It's anonymous, but it's kind of better that way, 'cause you can just be yourself. Nobody's a loser on there. Or at least we can all be losers together."

"That's my kind of place." Toby felt a sudden, fierce homesickness for Denver, for his former students, his dog. Annie was still living with Colin. "I know what it's like to be lonely. I've got this great big house and nobody to hang out with."

"You're not married or anything?" Jake asked.

Toby smiled. "Engaged. Though they don't let fellas like me get legally married in Ohio. Leastwise not to the kind of fellas I'd want to be married to."

"Oh." Jake was silent for a moment, eyeing him. "So you're a —"

"Appropriate word's  _gay,_ from you or anyone. Don't let me hear you usin'  _homosexual,_  or any other nonsense for that matter."

He nodded quickly. "It's cool. I don't care who you like. Katie says gender's all fluid anyway. Not that anybody at school would understand that."

"Katie's one of your friends online?" Jake nodded. Toby considered him.  _Now's as good a time as any._  "Turns out we actually have a friend in common, in addition to Chris."

Now Jake looked wary. "Who? I seriously don't have any friends at school."

"Not at school. Your half-sister, Sarah."

Jake was absolutely floored. "How —"

"My fiancé is a teacher at her school." Toby figured it was close enough to the truth. He wasn't going to talk about Puck without being sure Jake knew about him. "I took a guess that two Puckermans might be related."

"Wow." Jake shook his head as he rose to his feet. "I didn't even know I  _had_  a sister until last year, when my dad showed up to explain to the court why he wasn't paying child support."

That was all the story Jake provided, but afterwards, Toby thought Jake seemed more comfortable moving alongside him. The second time they went through Paul's routine, he was laughing.

Jake didn't say anything else until they'd adjourned upstairs for sandwiches. "Can I ask you something?"

Toby nodded. "Anything."

"Anything's kind of big."

"The world's pretty big, darlin'. I'd be one poor excuse for a teacher if I didn't give my kids a chance to learn from all of it. You just ask your question."

Jake stared at his hands. "Just… at school, people don't get why I like to dance. They're jerks about it. My mom says I shouldn't let it get to me, but I get angry. Really angry, you know?"

"I do," Toby said soberly.

"So I got counseling and all that. But you… I think if there were any gay kids at my school, they'd get picked on even more than I am."

"I'll tell you what, Jake. There  _are_  gay kids at your school. And I got picked on plenty when I was their age."

Jake gave him a troubled look. "Weren't you mad? Didn't you want to beat them up?"

"I did my share of that too. Mostly I didn't want to waste my energy on it. It was safer to deal with it other ways."

"But you're so happy," Jake burst out. Toby had to smile, while Jake just glared at him. "Even though people are jerks to you. How do you do that?"

"That is a pretty big question," said Toby. He leaned on an elbow. "There was a man I knew when I was a teenager, Gregg. He was like a big brother. Well — I did actually have two brothers and two sisters, back at home in Goose Creek." It had been years since he'd thought about Robert, Grace, Natalie and Luke. "They were all pretty horrified to have a little brother like me. So I left home when I was fourteen."

Jake looked impressed. "You left home? What was that like?"

"Awful. Home was awful too, but being on my own, without even one person who knew or cared if I lived or died… that was the worst. I tried to handle it, did my best to make enough money to get along, but I think if I hadn't met Gregg, I never would have made it out of Louisville. Gregg was a counselor at the shelter where I landed. He helped me figure out how to get my GED, and how to apply for a job with the regional youth ballet." Toby tapped his finger on the table in front of Jake. "You could do that, when you get a little older. I think there's one in Columbus."

"That'd be cool," Jake said. "If my mom said I could. What's a GED?"

"Like a high school diploma, for kids who don't stay in school. And I didn't know anything about college or none of that. He made it seem possible." Toby gave him a sad smile. "He was always happy, too. Even when he got really sick, he was still happy."

Jake hesitated. "He — is he okay?"

"No. He died, back in '96."

It had been the worst year of Toby's life, watching Gregg deteriorate. He'd had friends, but Toby had been the only one visiting most days, until the very end. The worst part had been doing it without having Will to lean on. That had been the year they'd stopped speaking to one another, Will's senior year. After Will had issued another yet another  _I'm not gay_  and Toby had laid down the line, Will had walked out of his dressing room. Toby almost hadn't come to music camp at Baldwin-Wallace that summer, his last year, but in the end, he couldn't stay away.

Toby realized Jake was staring at him anxiously. He smiled, shaking off the fourteen years since Gregg's death. "That was a long time ago. Lots of friends gone since then. And I celebrate Gregg's life every year at the —" He paused. "Huh. I ain't likely gonna fly back to Colorado to do the AIDS walk this August."

"They have one in Columbus next week," Jake said. "I saw an ad for it online, on one of the — on a web site."

Toby wasn't going to push Jake to explain where he might have seen an AIDS walk banner online. Jake had plenty of time to define himself without needing any help from Toby, or anyone else. "That's a right fine idea, Jake. I think I might have to drive down for that."

_And maybe,_  he thought, _if his dad lets him come along, I'll bring Kurt with me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music credits: 
> 
> "Red and Black" is from the musical Les Miserables.  
> "I Was Born To Love You" is by Queen.  
> "Too Darn Hot" is from the musical Kiss Me Kate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will auditions for Les Miserables, along with Bryan Ryan, and Will gets lonely. Frances talks with her dad about Sarah, and Sarah about school. Puck tries to go shopping, but Rachel stops by. Frances talks to Mr. Loughner and gets asked to the dance. Toby tiles his kitchen floor and has a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Dream On, in which everyone's talking and thinking ahead to the future. Warning for consensual slavery. Enjoy! 
> 
> -amy

Will had plenty of memories of what a good singer Bryan Ryan had been back in high school, but even he was impressed with Bryan's stage presence during their duet audition of "Dream On." They'd fallen back into the harmonies and choreography like senior year had been yesterday.

He wasn't going to mention anything to Bryan after the audition, but Bryan caught him in the hallway and stuck out his hand. Will shook it.

"Nice job," Will said stiffly. "It was like being back on stage with you at McKinley all over again."

"Well, you've definitely improved since then," Bryan said. He put his hands in his pockets. "Where'd you end up going to college, anyway?"

"Baldwin-Wallace."

"That's right," Bryan nodded thoughtfully. "You went to that music camp in the summers. You and that weird kid, Brad, the one who never said anything."

Will smiled. "He still does that."

"Don't tell me the two of you…?" Bryan waited, one eyebrow raised suggestively.

"Oh — no, no, he's my best friend," he said hastily. "Brad's happily married."

Bryan shouldered his duffle and followed Will out to the parking lot. "I've heard that phrase too many times to believe it means anything at all. Seems like half the guys in any musical theater production I do are gay, and the other half are  _happily married."_  Bryan put air quotes around the phrase.

Will had no idea what to say to that, but Bryan appeared to be expecting some kind of response. "Yeah," he said weakly. "Well, I'm not married anymore."

It made him feel awful to say it, because that wasn't the whole truth either. Back in December, he'd gone shopping for Toby's ring in Columbus, just to avoid seeing any former students or teachers at the jewelry store. The clerk at the counter hadn't blinked when Will had asked to see the mens' titanium bands, but Will hadn't explained who it was for. If the clerk had asked, Will had even considered making up an elaborate story about his cousin losing his wedding band. But she hadn't asked.

 _Are you planning to hide Toby your whole life?_  he asked himself bitterly.  _At some point, you're going to have to start explaining the truth._

Bryan paused beside the door to his station wagon. "Don't tell me this piece of crap is your car, William."

"It is," he admitted. "It still runs, which is about all it has going for it."

"You're lucky you escaped your marriage without kids. Chances of me driving anything other than the minivan for the next ten years are slim." Bryan rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Look… I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. I wasn't so wasted that I've forgotten how I acted toward you. I misread the signals. You had every right to dump me on my doorstep and leave me there."

Will took a deep breath. "No, it's okay. You didn't… completely misread the signals."

Bryan stabbed his finger in the air at Will. "I  _knew_  it! There was no way my gaydar was that far off."

"I'm not gay," Will said.

Bryan smirked. "Sure. You and all the other show choir directors. Jesus, Will."

"I'm in a relationship," he said loudly, cutting Bryan off, and glanced around them to make sure no one was nearby before continuing. "We've been together for years. At least… we might be. Might still be."

"Well, are you or aren't you?"

Will opened his mouth to reply and found his voice wobbling. "I — I don't know. He might — he told me he…"

Bryan shot him a sympathetic look. "Sorry, but cheating isn't the worst offense when you're already breaking all the rules."

"It wasn't the cheating that made me tell him not to bother calling back." Will shook his head. "But we were cheating all along. Terri, she knew about us. For years, she knew, even though she never told me she did. But then we split, and…"

"Not quite as hot once it's out in the open, is it?" Bryan slung a casual arm around his shoulder. "Trust me, I get it."

"No, no, that's — it's not like that. It's still hot. Even after fifteen years together, it's  _so_  hot." Will felt his words leave him at the sudden memory of Toby, stretched out naked on his bed, giving Will an inviting smile.

"So what's your problem? You're not looking for variety, or you never would have said no to me."

Will didn't argue about that. "We're… back in December, I asked him to, um." Will swallowed. "I asked him to marry me. And he moved to Ohio, all the way from Colorado. Took a job out here, bought a house, the works."

Bryan furrowed his brow. "You're getting cold feet? Just tell him you're not ready."

"I'm — I don't know what I am." He closed his eyes and said the words he hadn't said to anyone all week, not even Brad. "He might be sick."

"Ah. Well… okay." Bryan considered this. "You guys were planning a wedding? I mean, as much as you can, in Ohio. The ceremony, at least. For richer or poorer?"

Will nodded. "That was what I figured."

"So wouldn't this be covered in the  _in sickness or in health_  part?"

That was as much as Will could stand. He wasn't going to cry all over Bryan Ryan. "I should go," he muttered, reaching for his car door.

"Just, you'd better think about why you're bothering otherwise. I might not be the most faithful husband, but my wife, I'm not leaving her. We're going to be together until we're both too frail to do more than sit on the porch and yell at the dog."

 _The dog,_  Will thought, suddenly, and willed away his sob.  _I'd never see Annie again, if Toby and I broke up. Fuck._ He climbed into the front seat and jammed the keys into the ignition.

"I want to come back to Glee club tomorrow," Bryan said. "Tell them I was wrong. The arts do matter, Will. You reminded me of that." He leaned through the open window. "But they're not the  _only_  thing that matters."

Will managed to get from the dry cleaner's parking lot to his apartment complex before he lost it, crying big messy tears into his hands. He didn't want to go up to his empty apartment. Being alone was almost worse than having Bryan for company. He'd never done well on his own.

 _Toby hadn't either,_  he realized.  _And he's even more alone than I am. At least I've got Emma, and Brad and Andi and Laurie. It makes sense that he would have latched onto Jon for company. That's the way we always did it before._

He was angry again by the time he'd dug his phone out of his briefcase.  _But Toby had always played it safe before. Hadn't he? This time, when I asked him if he'd been safe, he couldn't give me an answer. I can't live with that kind of uncertainty._

Will called Emma instead of Toby. She answered briskly,  _"Will, I can't talk long. Is there anything you need?"_

"I was just checking to see if you were free. Sounds like you aren't."

" _I'm not,"_  she agreed.  _"I have about twenty minutes."_

He sighed and opened the door, hauling his briefcase out. "I should go home too. I just got back from Les Mis auditions."

" _Oh, Will!"_  Emma sounded excited.  _"I didn't know you were auditioning for that. My — I know someone who tried out for the part of Enjolras. When do you find out?"_

"I don't know, actually. I haven't done a production with Herb Duncan before… honestly, all the politics and interpersonal conflicts that happen in the theater? I'm not sure if I'm willing to get back into that again."

" _Will, you can't avoid something you love just because you're afraid it'll be hard."_

He rested his head against the door frame. "I'm not afraid of that. It's — what if I commit to something, and then I realize I can't be everything he needs?"

" _Well, that's easy. You can't ever be everything anybody needs."_

"No?"

" _No. So you can just give that part up now. Be the best performer you can be. That's all you can promise."_

Will dropped his briefcase on the couch and sank down next to it, resting his head back and staring at the ceiling. "He deserves more than that."

" _I'm pretty sure Herb knows what he's likely to find in Lima, Ohio. He won't expect you to be perfect."_

"Thanks, Emma," he said. "You always believed in me."

" _I still do, Will."_

"And what about you? I don't even know how to ask about — what you've been doing. How's that going?"

She laughed softly.  _"I'm… yeah, it's great. I'm still surprised how great it is."_

"I'm happy for you. Really, I am. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Will considered calling Brad, but he knew it would be mostly a one-sided phone conversation. Another night alone in his apartment wouldn't be the end of the world.

* * *

Frances brought the dirty dishes in from the dining room. She'd come to realize that her mother wasn't a very good cook, but her father's cooking was far worse and even less imaginative. She was grateful that most nights, her father agreed to clean up instead of cooking.

"Can I help?" she asked her father. He smiled.

"Sure, honey. You want to load the dishwasher or rinse?"

"Load the dishwasher." She waited until they had established a kind of rhythm to say, "I was wondering."

"Mmm?"

"About Sarah."

"What about her?"

"Principal Hartford met with her and Mr. Hummel on Thursday." She didn't mention Mrs. Hudson. It was already too confusing a situation for her to easily explain. "He wants her to consider skipping seventh grade."

"Is that right?" He looked impressed.

"Yes, but she doesn't think it's a good idea."

He turned off the water. "I imagine that's Sarah's decision, isn't it? Hers and her foster father's?"

Frances chewed on her lip (her father would let her get away with such things, whereas her mother would be on her immediately to  _stop doing that, Frances, for heaven's sake)._  "I think school's about doing what's best for you," she said. "And that's not always what's most fun or the easiest."

"Do you think Sarah's trying to do the fun or easy thing?"

"She's kind of bored at school," Frances admitted. "I don't think she would have begun her house project if she hadn't been. But there might be other things she could be doing, now that teachers have noticed she's bored."

Her father handed her the box of dishwasher soap, and she shook a little into the dispenser. "Sarah wouldn't be in class with you anymore if she skipped seventh grade," he said.

Frances didn't mention that she'd already thought of that about eighty-seven thousand times. She didn't talk to her father that way. She just set her jaw and said, "That doesn't matter. We're home friends now. We don't have to see each other at school."

Her father might not understand the way Frances' fear extended to Sarah meeting other friends in eighth grade, or even the possibility that she might not get adopted by Mr. Hummel after all. But he often seemed to be able to tell how Frances was feeling, even when she didn't talk about it. He gave her a slightly damp hug.

"You're a good friend," he told her.

Frances wanted to be. Sarah deserved a good friend, one who thought about what she needed as much as or more than they thought about their own needs.

She dried her hands, got the phone from the hallway, and brought it into her room, which recently had begun to feel more and more like a place that had nothing to do with her. There were clothes her mother had bought for her, and toys she never played with anymore, and music she didn't like to listen to. Dialing the phone felt like an act of rebellion against these things, a way she could escape from what was around her. Not for the first time, she wished her parents would let her get on the Internet from home.

" _Hummel house,"_  said a familiar voice. It wasn't Mr. Hummel, nor was it Kurt or Sarah.

"May I please speak to Sarah?" she asked politely.

" _Frances. It's Puck. She's reading about zoning or land use or something. Just a sec, I'll get her."_

It took a few minutes for Sarah to come to the phone, long enough to make Frances nervous.

"I didn't know your brother was staying with you again," she said when Sarah picked up.

" _Finn's moving back in, too. It's stupid. This house isn't any bigger than it was in January. I don't know why any of them think it's going to be any better than it was then."_ She made an exasperated noise.  _"Whatever."_

"But you have your own room, right?"

" _That's another thing. Tatenui said it could be mine, even though I don't really need it. I could just as well sleep on the couch. But Kurt said he'd still help me redecorate. To be honest, I think he'd rather redecorate his own room."_

Frances nudged her stuffed bear with her toe. "Have you thought any more about what Principal Hartford said? About next year?"

" _No. I don't need to think about it at all."_

"Why not? You know he was right about school being boring for you."

" _It's going to be boring no matter what grade I'm in. It's school. I'm doing fine in classes, and it's easy enough that I can still do the things I want. I don't see any point in trying to do it faster."_

"You'd be done with it a year sooner," Frances pointed out.

Sarah paused.  _"Okay, that is a thought. But I wouldn't be with you. I'd get to high school a whole year ahead of you."_

"I know," Frances said, sighing. She looked over at the drawing Sarah had made of her, months ago. She still thought it was way too pretty to really look like her, but she liked to imagine what life might be like if she really did look like that. "That would be hard. It's just… you know how you see things in me that I can't see? Things I would never notice, or think I could do?"

" _Huh."_  Sarah sounded pleased.  _"Okay?"_

"Well, I think that you need teachers like that. Who do that for you."

" _You don't think you do that for me?"_

"Not enough. Or else you wouldn't be bored. And anyway, we'd still see each other after school almost every day, and on weekends."

Sarah was silent again.

" _You should be principal,"_  she accused, which made Frances laugh.  _"I'm taking Carole over to your dad's office to meet Barb and Andrew after school tomorrow. She wants to see the real blueprints and talk to some grownups. You want to come?"_

"Sure." Barb and Andrew were old enough to be architects in her dad's firm, but still young enough to be fun to spend time with. They usually had candy, which Frances wasn't allowed to have at home, and funny stories about her dad, which felt scandalous to hear but were still compelling. "I'll meet you after school."

As she was putting the phone receiver away, her dad kissed her good night.

"I think Sarah should listen to you," he said. "You have good things to say."

It was always nice to hear her dad say things like that, but it didn't get her any closer to making Sarah actually  _listen._  Sarah wasn't the kind of girl you could  _make_  do anything.

 _But maybe,_  she thought, _there was someone who could get her to listen, after all._

* * *

Puck thought about skipping Glee in order to get to the grocery store. He didn't really need to; school got out early enough in the afternoon that the only people who'd be in the grocery store at that time would be housewives. Maybe he'd run the risk of meeting one of his former cougars, but he didn't care. He had a job to do.

In the end, he sat through Mr. Ryan's posturing, flip-flopping between supporting and canceling Glee. Everybody was freaking out about it. Like it wasn't the fifteenth time they'd almost lost their funding. The only thing Puck really noticed was Kurt's indignation at Mr. Ryan ripping the bedazzled jean jacket from his hands.

It felt completely different to be shopping for Kurt and his family than shopping for himself, and it had nothing to do with the four hundred dollar budget Burt had given him. Well, maybe it had  _something_  to do with that, but he was sure as hell going to make it count.

The first thing he did when he got home was open his history notebook to a blank page and take inventory of everything in the kitchen. It wasn't the first time he'd looked through Kurt's cupboards, but it was the first time he'd felt empowered to toss anything that didn't belong. Everything expired went in the garbage, along with anything containing ingredients Puck considered to be awful. He knew Kurt didn't agree with him about everything a kitchen needed, but he was confident Kurt was going to let him make most of the decisions about that. Now that  _he_  was responsible.

The second part was going to take some time. He could plan a meal based on what they already had in the kitchen, and he could plan a meal with ingredients he bought that day, but he'd never really had the resources to plan weeks and weeks of meals in a row. It was all up to him, but he had to be sensible about it. He didn't want to make it too exotic or too rich or too repetitive. For now, for this first week, he was going to stick to recipes he and Sarah had cooked dozens of times before, and that he was pretty sure everybody would like.

Puck had made it through  _Wednesday - Moroccan stew_  when the doorbell rang. He stuffed the list into his back pocket. When he opened the door, Rachel was standing there.

"Oh." She opened her mouth and closed it again, her eyes round. "Noah."

"That's me. Sorry, I'm the only one here. You looking for Finn?"

"I was… yes." She looked confused, and a little lost. He held the door open.

"You wanna come in? I have to go shopping in a little bit."

She hesitated for a little longer, but eventually standing on the porch became weirder than entering Kurt's house when nobody else was home. She stepped inside, giving him a little nod. "When I talked to Finn on Tuesday, he said he and his mom were moving in here. So — I came here."

"We're all kind of converging on the place," Puck agreed. "I don't think it'll be a secret, but I'm guessing it'd be better if you didn't spread it around. There's a question about how many kids are allowed to live in one place, according to social services? But if Finn told you, it's okay." He looked at her curiously. "You know a bunch of secrets about us, don't you?"

"I know — some things," she said carefully. "I'd heard you had your own apartment."

"Yeah, since December. But I'm here now." The word  _slave_  wasn't going to cross his lips around Rachel, not until Finn personally assured him that she understood. "Mr. Hummel's trying to adopt me and my sister."

"I'd heard that." Rachel looked completely ill at ease, but she still didn't suggest she should leave.

"You want something to drink? Finn should be home soon."

"All right." She watched him while he fired up the hot water kettle. When he passed her the good hot chocolate, she smiled. "You remembered. From Toby's house?"

"Yeah, but he won't let me throw out his crappy hot chocolate." He smiled back. "So… you and Jesse are back together?"

Her smile dimmed. "I can't pretend I don't care about him."

"He's not who he says he is, Rach."

"I don't believe that." She gazed across the kitchen out the window. "Did you ever want something so much that you were willing to do anything to get it?"

"All the time," he nodded. "Been there, done that. Turned out it didn't mean I should  _actually_  do anything to get it."

She turned to him, her expression intense. "But you know what you need better than anyone else does."

He laughed as the hot water kettle bell went off. "I don't know if I even believe that anymore." He reached for her mug and filled it, then filled one for himself, handing her a spoon. "So Jesse's worth alienating all your friends and risking your place in Glee?"

"My fathers taught me long ago to listen to my heart first," Rachel said. She sounded defensive. Puck nudged her mug toward her across the counter.

"I guess I can't argue with that. If you're gonna be Finn's girlfriend, I think he would agree with you."

"I'm not Finn's girlfriend," she said quickly, stirring the chocolate into her hot water. "I'm Jesse's."

"Yeah, I think you should know by now that one doesn't always follow the other." He grinned as she avoided his eyes. "Come on, Rach. I'm just messing with you. You don't have to like me to know I'm on your side. For whatever reason, Finn thinks you're awesome."

She peeked up at him. "Really?"

"Fucking right he does. I'm not going to get in the way of that. You know why? Because Finn's awesome too. Jesse, on the other hand, is a total wild card. All we know about him is he showed up here last month and started telling you what you want to hear. That's a pretty fucking red flag. And that's  _me_  saying that, and I've got worse judgment than anybody I know."

That made her smile. She tapped her spoon off on her mug. "Noah, you're too hard on yourself."

He shook his head. "Nah. I leave that to Kurt and Finn. And other people."

"Other people," she repeated, wrinkling her nose. "I remember that too. There's someone in California? And…" She thought. "New Mexico?"

"You have a good memory. Yeah, a couple people in Santa Fe. One of the girls, a bass player, she showed me some great music."

Rachel's face brightened. "Is she the one who taught you that Neil Diamond song you sang for me in Glee? Sweet Caroline?"

Puck choked on his hot chocolate. "No. Neil Diamond, that was all my dad."

"I thought your dad played rock and roll?"

"Yeah, well, maybe when he was stoned out of his mind, it felt like rock and roll to him. Whatever."

Rachel was smiling. "I thought you sounded amazing. That was the first time I really heard you sing. You should sing more in Glee. Your bad-boy image is very appealing."

"Oh, yeah?" He was already standing and opening the door into his room for his guitar. Rachel followed him into the sparsely-furnished space, looking around herself in surprise.

"Is this your room?"

"For now. It'll be — uh, yeah. It's my room." He'd been about to say something about his daughter, but it occurred to him that maybe he should check with Finn before passing on that rumor. He felt a little proud of himself for realizing.

She sat on the bed, which was to be expected, given that there were no other chairs in the room. "It's so close to the kitchen."

 _That's because it's the slave quarters,_ he thought, and suppressed a laugh. "It used to be Burt's office. Mr. Hummel's office."

Rachel's eyes bulged a little at the name  _Burt,_  but she didn't say anything. She nodded at his guitar. "Do you know any other Neil Diamond songs? As you said, he was a famous Jewish songwriter."

"Do I know any other Neil Diamond songs." Puck snickered. He tuned his guitar, then began a quiet 3/4 rhythm. Rachel listened to him sing the meditative lyrics in a kind of trance.

_She was morning and I was night time_  
 _I one day woke up to find her lying beside my bed  
_ _I softly said: Come take me_

_For I've been lonely, in need of someone_  
 _As though I'd done someone wrong somewhere  
_ _But I don't know where, I don't know where come lately_

_You are the sun, I am the moon_  
 _You are the words, I am the tune  
_ _Play me_

He came to an abrupt halt as they both heard the door slam. "Puck?" they heard Finn call. Puck felt his joints turn to ice.

"What time is it?" he whispered.

Rachel checked her watch, rising from the bed. "Four-fifteen."

"Fuck. I was supposed to go shopping." He abandoned his guitar on the bed and headed for the kitchen. "Oh, man. I should have gone earlier."

She looked puzzled, and a little alarmed at his fervor. "Was there something special? I'm sorry I interrupted."

"No, no, this was  _my_  responsibility, I should have —" He stopped in the middle of the kitchen as Finn appeared in the doorway.

As soon as he saw Rachel, he smiled politely. "Uh… hey."

Rachel smiled back. "Finn. I hope you don't mind me stopping by. I remembered what you'd told me about — about you and your mother relocating, and I came looking for you, and… Noah invited me in."

"Yeah, we haven't moved anything yet. We're still at my house." Finn's eyes were fixed on Puck. "What have you guys been doing?"

"Noah was playing me some Neil Diamond," she said.

"I have to get to the store," Puck muttered, edging toward the door. He attempted to convey with his eyes exactly what was going on.

"Sure," Finn said. Puck grabbed Kurt's fancy cloth grocery bags from the hook next to the pantry and headed for the front hall, jerking to a brief halt when Finn said, very quietly, "We'll deal with it later, all right?"

He kept his mouth shut on the  _yes, sir,_  because saying it in front of Burt was one thing, but saying it in front of  _Rachel_  — he just wasn't ready to deal with that.

It might have been the truck, or his nerves, but he couldn't get the fucking starter to catch. After a dozen failed attempts, he gave it a rest and picked up his phone. He was sure he'd meant to call Adam, but he wound up dialing Kurt.

" _Noah?"_  Kurt's voice came through in the midst of the echoes of the locker room, his voice breathless.  _"I just finished Cheerios practice. What is it?"_

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I was supposed to — there was —" He took a deep breath and stared at his odometer, which included three sevens in a row.  _Lucky seven,_  it seemed to say, or maybe,  _Tell him._  He let the breath out. "I didn't do the shopping."

" _Well, that's okay."_  Kurt sounded as confused as Rachel had been, which just served to make Puck feel more agitated.  _"It's still early. You can go now, can't you? I can ask Carole to cook tonight."_

"No!" Puck burst out. "It's my job. I'll do it. I just… I needed you to know."

" _All right,"_  Kurt soothed, _"it's not a big deal, Noah. Don't worry. Do you want me to come shopping with you?"_

"You might have to." He gave the dash of his truck a smack. "Fucking truck won't start."

" _Well, just wait there and I'll be there in a few minutes. It's okay. Running a household like this is new for you. Nobody expects you to be perfect at it."_

Puck couldn't bring himself to call anybody else, not even Adam. He thought about trying Shelby, but she'd been busy almost every night with extra Vocal Adrenaline rehearsals. He tried the starter another dozen times, after which he repeated the word  _fuck_  at least twice that many times. He took the grocery and meal planning list out and stared at it for several minutes before putting it away again.

When Kurt pulled up in his Navigator, Puck got out, gave the truck a final kick, and climbed into Kurt's passenger seat, glaring at everything.

" _I_  expect me to be perfect at it," he told Kurt. "This isn't like writing a fucking essay or cutting Sarah's hair or talking to the utility company. This is something  _I can do."_  He paused, looking warily at Kurt's pensive face. "What's the matter? Did something happen?"

"It was nothing. After practice, Dave Karofsky was hanging out by the locker rooms."

Puck frowned. "He's not giving you trouble again, is he?"

"No, no, he's not. Since I got back from California, he's been completely avoiding me, which is why I was surprised to see him there." He sighed. "I shouldn't even bother to put any energy into it, but… I don't know. Something about the way he looked. It worried me."

"Well, you know if he tries any of that shit again, I'm not going to let him get away with it." Puck flexed his right arm, which made Kurt smile and take his other hand as he drove.

"I honestly haven't thought about Dave Karofsky in weeks. But thank you, sweetheart. Where are we shopping?"

Puck felt the tension in his limbs return at the mention of his failure. "I don't know. I guess just to Ray's, for stuff for dinner tonight. I'll have to go back later when I've figured out what else I need. If I can get the fucking truck to start."

"My dad will be thrilled it's finally given up." He gave Puck an encouraging smile. "You know you can always take the Navigator. It's going to be okay."

That just made Puck feel worse. If Kurt couldn't see the problem, what did that mean? Could he even trust Kurt to see things clearly? He tried to contain his freak-out as best as he could. Kurt had his own stuff to worry about.

At Ray's, Puck picked up the bare minimum he'd need to make dinner, and kept quiet on the way home. No one else besides Finn was home, for which Puck was grateful. He didn't have anything against Rachel, but figuring out how she fit into their weird little dynamic was way more than he could handle at the moment. He went straight into the kitchen and began unpacking onto the counter, turning on the oven.

Without asking, Kurt took the salad greens to the sink and began washing them. Puck bit back the angry objection he wanted to make. Kurt was just trying to help, after all. The least he could do was be grateful.

"Hey." Puck turned to see Finn in the doorway, nodding at the meal in process. "I'm not going to interrupt —"

"Yeah, well, good, or dinner's going to be fucking late. Hope you don't care if it's boring."

Finn's eyes narrowed. He turned to Kurt. "Are you okay with this?"

"Noah's had a hard afternoon," Kurt began placatingly, but Finn just shook his head, taking three strides over to stand in front of Puck. Before Puck knew what had happened, Finn had taken the wooden spoon out of his hand and set it on the counter, and he'd grabbed Puck in his arms, containing his struggles. He heard Kurt make a distressed noise. "Finn—"

"You don't speak to me that way," Finn said into Puck's ear. "Not while you're here in this house. Not me, or Kurt, or anybody."

"No, sir," he gasped. The relief was palpable, and he sagged in Finn's arms. "I screwed up."

"Yeah, you did. I told you we'd deal with it when Rachel wasn't there, and now she's not. You want six with the spoon now, or eighteen later with the paddle?"

"Finn!" Kurt sounded positively offended. "You can't get mad at Noah for this! It wasn't that big of a deal."

Finn reached around for a better hold on Puck, glancing over at Kurt. "Do I look mad?"

"Forgetting to do the  _groceries_  is not something I'm going to spank him for."

"Kurt, he was practically begging for it when I got home."

Kurt turned off the water in the sink and came around to stand close to both of them. Puck tried not to struggle further as Kurt put a gentle hand on his back.

"Is  _that_  why you called me, Noah?" Kurt asked, astonished.

Puck buried his face into Finn's shirt, but Finn took a step back, gripping his shoulders and holding him out at arm's length. He felt so exposed, he wanted to hide his flaming face in his hands, but Finn wouldn't let him do that either.

"Answer him," Finn commanded.

"Yes sir," he said immediately to Kurt, and saw the awareness on Kurt's face shift.

Kurt nodded slowly. "Tell me what happened."

Puck could barely focus on the words that were coming out of his own mouth, he was so attuned to the way Kurt was watching him, the weight of Finn's hand on his arm. He stumbled through an explanation of his planning this afternoon, Rachel's appearance, and his realization about the time. Finn nodded when he was done.

"So what do you think you did wrong?"

"I was hanging out with Rachel instead of doing the stuff I was planning to do," Puck said. The words still felt so hard to say.

Whatever Finn was going to say in response, Kurt cut him off with a gesture, looking hard at Puck. "Noah, you know we don't think any less of you because you didn't follow through. You didn't do anything wrong."

Puck gnawed at his lip and eyed Finn in desperation. Finn slid an arm around Kurt's waist. "Baby… he  _did_  do something wrong. And he knows it."

Kurt looked up at Finn. "But that doesn't make him  _bad."_

"Seriously? He doesn't care about the difference between  _being bad_  and  _doing bad._  If we make it seem like  _we_  don't care that he did something he knew he shouldn't have done, we're not giving him what he needs."

It should have been easy to tease them about talking about him like he wasn't there, but Puck couldn't manage any more words. He just waited in silence while Finn and Kurt had a whole conversation with their eyes. Kurt:  _You're blaming him for nothing._ Finn: _You're not helping him by being easy on him._  Puck's hands twitched to get back to dinner prep.

"What's going on?" He hadn't even heard anybody else come in. Sarah was standing in the doorway, watching them with suspicion.

"It's cool," Puck told her.

She gave him that  _everybody is stupid_  look. "You are not anywhere close to cool." She came right over to him and grabbed his hand, pulling it down to cradle against her heart, and probed his face with her eyes. "Why aren't they letting you make dinner?"

"I don't know," he sighed. She glared at Kurt and Finn in turn, who looked sheepish.

"Can't you do this later? Because if he doesn't get food on the table in forty-five minutes, he's seriously going to freak out."

"I'm not going to freak out!"

"Sorry," Finn said to Sarah. Then, with only a moment's hesitation, he stepped in close, wresting Puck out of Sarah's hand's clasp, and kissed him, hard and passionate. Puck scarcely heard Sarah's squeak of protest over the thunder of his own pulse in his ears.

He staggered when Finn let him go, staring breathlessly up at him. Finn didn't move far from his lips.

"Fuck," Puck croaked.

"You're my good boy," Finn whispered. "I don't care what the hell you do in the kitchen. You're always my good boy. Got that?"

"Yessir." His response was barely loud enough to be heard, but when Finn turned away, Kurt was flushed and smiling. Finn gave him one more meaningful glance before taking Kurt's hand and departing the kitchen in silence.

Sarah went over to the sink and sighed.

"So are you going to let me wash the lettuce," she said caustically, "or are you going to throw me out, too?"

"Shut up," he said, picking up his spoon, and didn't bother to conceal his radiant grin. "I'll get it on the table in thirty."

* * *

Thursday morning, Frances came into homeroom early enough that she was guaranteed to be the first student there. Mr. Loughner was working at his desk. She waited in the doorway until he noticed her.

"Frances." He put down his pen. "Can I help you with something?"

"I hope so. It's about Sarah." She edged into the room and, even though no one was really around, shut the door behind her. "I happened to be in the office on Tuesday when Principal Hartford talked with her about double promotion next year."

His eyebrows went up under his blonde bangs. "Happened to be in the office?"

"Sarah made me. Just — I was  _there._  And he said all the reasons why she might want to think about it, and why they hadn't brought it up before, and all Sarah could say was that she wasn't going to. Think about it. Only she didn't say that in front of the principal."

Mr. Loughner was studying her carefully. "No?"

"No, she waited until she was out of his office."

"And you think there's a reason for that?"

She crossed her arms, feeling self-conscious, but she wasn't going to give up now. "I think Sarah is thinking about it, but she doesn't want to do it, because of me."

"Because of you."

"Yes. Because — because next year, we were going to be seventh graders." She watched his face to see if he understood, and stifled a sigh when he obviously didn't. "Together. We were only kind of friends at the beginning of this year. Or maybe I didn't even realize we were, and — now we're  _best_  friends, and — and I've never had a best friend before, and neither has Sarah. And I think she thinks maybe school's pretty stupid, except —"

He waited, only prompting, "Yes?" when she took too long.

"Except  _I_ don't think school's stupid, Mr. Loughner," Frances said. "And this year Sarah made this incredible project, something bigger than most grown-ups would do. She brought all these people and resources and information together and she made this plan, this  _house,_  and —" She took a breath. "I don't think she did anything at all like this in fifth grade, or before that. And it might be because she didn't know she could, and it might be because nobody was believing in  _her."_

Mr. Loughner was suppressing a smile. Frances tried not to feel disgruntled about that.

"Anyway," she ended weakly, "I think… Sarah  _needs_ to have somebody believing in her. Enough to tell her she should do this, even if she's scared. Even if it means we won't be in the same grade anymore. Because I think if anybody's going to do amazing things, it's Sarah, and she needs — to do that."

He slowly got to his feet and slipped on his glasses. "I think that may have been the most words I've heard from you all year, Frances."

She felt like she might melt into the floor with embarrassment, but she didn't look away. "I suppose I was waiting until I had something to say."

"You certainly did that," he said approvingly. He glanced toward the hallway, where students were beginning to appear. "Would you like me to speak with Sarah, or Principal Hartford?"

"Sarah," she said. "She likes you. I think she'll want to speak with Principal Hartford herself." She quelled an urge to dance from foot to foot, and gave him an awkward nod. "Thank you."

When the rest of the class arrived, Frances was sitting at her desk, finishing her reading for English. Thankfully, she didn't seem to suspect anything unusual had happened, and class proceeded without comment.

Later, after homeroom period was over and the class was leaving, Mr. Loughner casually said, "Sarah, would you stay after for a moment? There's something I want to address with you."

Frances carefully avoided Sarah's eyes and slipped out into the hallway, stepping far enough out of the range of the door to avoid being seen. Brian followed her.

"Is Sarah in trouble?" Brian asked. He was so much taller than he had been at the beginning of the year, already; not as tall as she was, but definitely taller than Sarah.

"No," she said. "She's in kind of the opposite of trouble."

He grinned. "Even though she skipped class, like, fifty-seven thousand times?"

"That's an exaggeration. And I know she never got caught. Technically that would be Mrs. Jeffreys' fault for being oblivious." She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside the room.

"So I was wondering."

"Mmm." The room appeared to be quiet.  _At least there's no yelling or storming-out happening._

"Do you… want to go to the Fools of April dance with me?"

Frances spent another ten seconds spying on Sarah before she comprehended what Brian was asking her. She whipped her head around so quickly, she almost banged her cheek on the glass of the classroom window.

"No!" Immediately she saw his startled face, and felt bad for him. "I — I can't. It's not because — I just can't. My parents. They wouldn't like it."

It was the most miserable lie she'd ever attempted to tell in her life. Her mother would have been over the  _moon_  to hear that a boy, especially one as nice and clean-cut as Brian, had invited her to a dance. But Brian, at least, believed it. He nodded, sighing.

"Maybe they'd let you go with a group?" he said hopefully. "Like, a bunch of us together, boys and girls?"

"Maybe. Sure." That felt like safer territory. They both smiled, and Brian babbled some kind of thanks before leaving her to wait for Sarah in peace.

Frances was mostly relieved to have said something to deflect the question that wasn't quite a rejection. Although, the more she thought about it, this might provide a kind of bargaining chip for her and her mother to talk about summer camp.  _A month of orienteering and climbing in exchange for one dance with a boy._ It made her feel unreasonably angry to think about, but it was worth a try.

She gave up trying to be unobtrusive and stood in the doorway, watching Sarah and Mr. Loughner talk in quiet, earnest voices. Frances seldom saw Sarah looking like that at school, but if there was anybody she trusted here, it was Mr. Loughner. Her mind began to wander to other times she'd seen Sarah with that look on her face, looking at  _her._ Trusting  _her,_  enough to tell Frances things that made her cry, something she knew Sarah barely ever did in front of other people. She didn't know how to explain to Sarah how much that meant to her, that  _she_  got to be the one to listen when Sarah cried.

The idea of Sarah coming with her to the Fools of April dance, her and Brian and several of her other friends, made her smile. Sarah would inevitably wear something completely bizarre, something nobody else would have even considered wearing — and pull it off spectacularly. She didn't even know if Sarah could dance, but that didn't matter much in middle school, did it? Nobody knew how to dance. They would just move to the music, everybody together. It sounded terrifying, but she thought she might be able to do it if Sarah were there with her, holding her hand. Maybe not as terrifying as jumping forward a whole grade, but she'd watched Sarah conduct meetings with the junior architects in her father's firm with complete confidence. A dance should be nothing compared to that.

Sarah ended her conversation with Mr. Loughner, walked straight toward Frances and grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the door and around the corner, where she wheeled to faced her.

"Did you put him up to that?" she hissed.

"Yes," Frances said, trying not to be shaken by Sarah's response. "I told him what I told you, and he offered to talk to you."

"You want to split us up?"

"I really think this is more important than that," she said. "And who said this would split us up? You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Sarah flung her arms around Frances and clung there for a long time. Frances could feel her trembling. She eyed the students passing them nervously.

"People are looking," she murmured.

"Fuck people," Sarah replied, her voice muffled. Frances gave her a squeeze before extracting herself from Sarah's arms. "I haven't decided yet."

"No," Frances agreed.

"I don't have to decide yet."

"No." She smiled at Sarah. "Thank you for not hating me."

She wondered if Sarah would hate the idea of going to the dance more or less than the idea of skipping a grade. It occurred to her that she wasn't scared of Sarah saying no to her, about the dance or any other thing, because she was absolutely sure there would be more yeses later on even if she did. It made Frances feel softer inside, not to mention more charitable toward Brian, who clearly didn't have that kind of friendship with anybody else.

"Brian asked me to the Fools of April dance," she said, "but I told him I'd only go if we went in a group."

"That's cool," Sarah agreed. "Kurt and Noah went to a dance club when they were in California, with the guy they're seeing out there."

"I… don't think that's the kind of  _group_  I meant when I was talking to Brian." She made a face. "I think he likes me."

Sarah looked at her, incredulous. "Are you serious? I think Brian likes  _boys."_

"You — really?" That felt like a radical concept to her, to think of sweet, well-behaved Brian wanting something like that. But Sarah nodded emphatically.

"I've seen the way he looks at Archie Turnbull. But if he's asking to go with you to the dance, maybe he likes you, too. Or maybe he's just scared to ask who he really wants to ask."

That stuck with Frances for the rest of the day and all the way home on the bus, to where her mother was waiting in the kitchen to welcome her with an after-school snack and a familiar set of questions about homework and chores. Frances sat at the table as she usually did, eating her store-bought cookies. She knew there would be freshly baked homemade cookies at Sarah's house, or bread, or some of Puck's incredible feta-basil muffins. The cookies at Frances' house were bland and pasty and too sweet. There was really no comparison.

 _Maybe he's scared to ask who he really wants to ask,_  she thought, chewing her cookie without tasting it.

"Mother," she said, "I want to tell you about… this summer camp."

* * *

Toby had negotiated for every other Friday off when he'd signed his contract. He appreciated those Fridays most when he was able to sleep in. Without Annie to wake him up, he could have theoretically reverted to his old habit of languishing in bed until past noon. The annoying thing was, he had a hard time staying awake long enough at night to make that possible. It was somewhat unsettling to realize he'd largely adjusted to his new schedule.

"It's because there ain't nothin' to  _do_  in Akron after dark," he grumbled, pulling open the blinds on his window. The clock said it was barely nine-thirty. Maybe if he woke up early enough, getting up in the morning would feel like staying up very late, with an added nap. It was a useless justification, but it was still something of a comfort.

While his coffee was brewing, Toby took a walk through the first floor of his house. The walk-around porch was still too cold to use in the morning, though by afternoon he'd have some nice sun on the back patio. The garden plot was, thanks to Brittany Pierce, right on schedule for spring planting. The hammock beside the pond would have to wait until at least April, but April was just around the corner. The front room was occasionally still chilly, although he could light a fire in the fireplace.

He'd painted the entire downstairs, and sanded the wood floor in the main room to a smooth, silky finish. Once he retiled the kitchen — he'd have to measure the room to figure out how many tiles to get — the first floor would largely be done.

The second and third floors, on the other hand, needed a shitload of work. He'd found beds for most of the rooms, including a king-sized mattress to outfit the four-poster that had come with the house, but that was as far as he'd gone in terms of furnishings. The plaster on the walls was crumbling, all of the rooms needed paint and the trim refinishing, and the big attic room on the third floor had some bad leaks in the dormer. Toby was certain he was going to need to replace the windows in some of the rooms. It would take him all spring to finish these tasks before he could even think about putting money into converting the carriage house into a dance studio.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Toby could just see the shimmer of Wolf Lake through the west-facing window. It could have been calming, but instead he just felt lonely. He took one gulp of his coffee, burning his tongue, and got out his measuring tape.

When his phone rang half an hour later, he almost didn't pay attention to it. It had been so many days since he'd received a call from that number. But he managed to dig the phone out of his dance bag before the call went to voice mail.

"Will," he said. "Is this a wrong number? Did you butt-dial me again?"

" _No! I mean — I deserved that. But no, I meant to call you."_

Toby sat on the floor against the wall, his legs sticking out straight in front of him. He leaned into a stretch. "Okay."

" _I knew this was your day off, and… well, I was wondering if you had plans today."_

He let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm doing some cleaning, working on the kitchen floor. And — Jesus, Will, what the fuck do you care?"

" _You know I do,"_  Will pleaded.  _"I'm not messing with you, Toby. I just wasn't sure — I didn't know if —"_

"You weren't bargaining on ending up taking care of someone who's positive for the rest of your life." He threw the measuring tape across the room. It hit the wall by the baseboard and made a dent. "I get it."

" _You don't. It's not about you being sick that scares me so much. It's thinking about wondering if next time might be the one where you're not safe."_  He could hear Will's voice shaking.  _"And then what? Would you tell me or wouldn't you? Would I have to ask?"_

He put his head in his hand. "Will, I've been doin' this since I was fuckin' fourteen years old. You don't think I ain't been safe this whole time?"

" _Well, I don't know! I hadn't really thought about it until now."_

Toby had to laugh. "Really? You didn't think about it? You still amaze me, Will. Even after all this time." He sighed. "I should have told you right away, about being with Jon."

" _You don't have to, Toby. That was never our agreement. It just occurred to me this week how lonely you must be out there in Akron, at work, at your house."_  Will let out an unhappy laugh.  _"It's what you always did, when we weren't together. I don't know why I expected it to change just because you moved to Ohio."_

"Or because you asked me to marry you? I don't know, darlin'. For most people, that usually puts a halt to shenanigans with other men."

Will was quiet for a moment.  _"Colin said that would never happen, back when we ran into him in the green room in Denver at Christmas. He thought —"_

"What the hell does it matter what other people think about us, Will?" Toby demanded. "We never had an ordinary relationship. Why would we start now? What matters is what  _we_  want. So?"

" _So what?"_  Will asked uncertainly.

"So what  _do_  you want? You're the one who called me."

" _I — I want —"_  He took a deep breath.  _"To come help you with your kitchen after school today."_

Toby felt his frustration and anger ebb, leaving behind a reluctant smile. "Yeah?"

" _Yeah."_  He was pretty sure Will was smiling, too.

"Well… I'll likely be done with the tile by the time you get here."

" _Do you suppose you might be able to find something else for me to do while I'm there?"_

"That depends," Toby drawled. "On how far away from me you intend to be while you're doin' it."

" _I think I'm done being away from you."_

He felt a tugging in his gut at the thought. "I still won't get my test results back for another week."

" _Then you can show me everything you know about being safe,"_  said Will.  _"Just… please, tell me I can come see you tonight?"_

"There's no one else I'd rather invite in, darlin'."

Will sighed.  _"I think I know that. And it shouldn't matter, anyway. I don't want you to be unhappy."_

"Will, just finish your damn school day and get your ass out here?"

Now he was definitely smiling.  _"All right. I'll see you tonight."_

Toby hummed through the rest of his morning. It didn't even matter that it was Bohemian Rhapsody he was humming. That damn song had earwormed him for the past two months. He was pretty sure nothing was going to interrupt his good mood after that phone call.

He wasn't quite finished laying tile by the time Will's station wagon pulled into his driveway, but he'd made a good deal of progress. He tracked Will's entrance with his ears, feeling his spirit buoy higher at each sign of progress: the sound of him opening the side door, taking off his shoes, setting down his suitcase, following the light into the kitchen.

"Wow," Will said, surveying the floor. "This looks fantastic. Don't tell me you've been doing this  _all_  day?"

"With breaks for lunch and a workout."

"You went with the blue anyway, after all that deliberation?"

Toby shrugged. "What can I say? I know what I like." He posed, his hands resting loosely on his hips. "Ain't I hot as a handyman?"

"You're hot all the time." Will held out a hand to steady him as he carefully picked his way across the unfinished floor to where Will stood. As soon as Toby was within reach, Will's arms went around him and held him tight.

"You're shaking," Toby murmured.

"I think that's you," Will whispered back. Toby took a long breath and let it out, feeling the familiarity of Will's body against his, settling him. "I'm sorry I ran away."

"You didn't," Toby said, but Will shook his head.

"I promised you. I  _promised,_  after that first time together in Terri's dorm room, that I wouldn't do that again. I was scared, but… that's not an excuse. And this Christmas, I made another promise to you. I think it's time I made it clear what that promise means to me."

Toby rested his lips on Will's cheek. "You've made it clear for fifteen years, darlin'. I've seen how committed you've been to Terri."

"Committed?" Will snorted quietly. "I was with  _you,_  the whole time I was with her."

"Will, I ain't talkin' about monogamy. You know I don't give a rat's ass who you have sex with. You were committed to takin' care of her. You would have bought that house for her. Through her whole pregnancy — okay, it doesn't matter it wasn't real. Your dedication was. I think if I really ever do get sick, you'd be right with me through the whole thing."

"I would." His hands clenched around Toby's back. "I swear, I would. For richer or poorer, in sickness or in health."

Toby smiled. "You're a good man, Will Schuester, even if you are a sap. I never doubted that."

Will's hands slipped lower to cup Toby's ass. "Any chance I could persuade you to finish this later?"

"Mmmm." Toby tipped his neck back to accept Will's kisses. "So much for gettin' work done." He met Will's eyes and held them. "You know there's always a chance, that I could be puttin' you at risk."

"Everything's a risk," Will said firmly. "Life's a risk. I don't want to be foolish about it, but — this, what we have, it's worth it."

He kissed Will on the lips. "Yeah. I'm gonna do my best to keep you safe, darlin'. As long as we both shall live."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit: "Play Me" by Neil Diamond.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Toby have a lazy evening. Carl tells Emma about Finn. Carl, Blaine and Finn start a band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get kind of bumpy from here on out, just like Toby's couch, but this chapter ending is pretty smooth. Warnings here for awkward silences and singing.  
> -amy

 

Will downed his third glass of wine, leaned back with the guitar in his lap and sighed, patting Toby's leg. "We are going to have to get you some more comfortable furniture."

"What's wrong with my couch, pray tell?" Toby asked, sounding far more offended than Will knew he was.

"It's bumpy. The fabric is bumpy. If we're going to be naked on it, can't we at least throw a blanket over it?"

Will watched Toby make his inebriated way across the family room to the cedar chest against the west wall and dig out a soft blanket, twin to the green fleece one he'd gotten for Will two years ago at Christmas. He stood and helped Toby throw it over the offending fabric of the couch, then settled down again with a pleased sigh.

"That's much better, thank you." He strummed the guitar, letting the song that had been in his head bubble forth.

[ _http://youtu.be/cXrWRM0E6YA_ ](http://youtu.be/cXrWRM0E6YA)

_Take all my vicious words and turn them into something good_  
 _Take all my preconceptions and let the truth be understood_  
 _Take all my prized possessions, leave only what I need_  
 _Take all my pieces of doubt and let me be what's underneath_  
 _Courage is when you're afraid but you keep on moving anyway  
_ _Courage is when you're in pain but you keep on living anyway_

It wasn't scary to sing in front of anyone anymore, but Will still felt something inside him expand every time Toby listened to him perform. Will was more proud of Toby's skill than he could say, and to see the same feeling demonstrated in Toby's smile, his expressive eyebrows, fed something inside him. He listened to Toby harmonizing with him on the chorus and settled into the sound, the most intimate feeling of  _rightness_  he'd ever had: Toby and Will, together.

_We all have excuses why_  
 _Living in fear something in us dies_  
 _Like a bird with broken wings_  
 _It's not how high he flies but the song he sings_  
 _It's not how many times you've been knocked down  
_ _It's how many times you get back up_

_Courage is when you've lost your way, but you find your strength anyway_  
 _Courage is when you're afraid_  
 _Courage is when it all seems grey_  
 _Courage is when you make a change and you keep on living anyway_  
 _You keep on moving anyway_  
 _You keep on giving anyway  
_ _You keep on loving anyway_

Toby abandoned his wine and crawled across the couch to push Will's guitar aside and plant messy kisses all over his face. Will had to giggle, ineffectually batting him away. "Hey!"

"Darlin'," Toby cooed, "you sure have a knack of singin' the right song at the right time."

"I think I'm too worn out to get it up again," Will warned him. "And maybe a little too drunk. But, god, you feel good. I missed touching you so much."

"I ain't tryin' to get you to  _do_  anything, Will. Unless you count stayin' with me in my bed tonight. And all bets are off in the morning." His hazel eyes sparkled. "I've been wakin' up  _early_ , you know."

While Toby stumbled around turning off lights, Will walked to the west side of the house and stood there, looking out through the porch windows at the lake. "I can't wait for it to be warm enough to go out there on the dock. And then it'll be summer, and we can spend every day here together. Have you talked with Colin about bringing Annie back here in June, after school is out?"

Toby nodded. "I'll have to go back to Denver to pick her up. I was thinkin' I'd need to find someone around here who could walk her during the day, but with this piece of land, she could just be an outdoor dog while I'm at work, on a long lead. I could build her a little kennel. I bet she'd like that."

Will watched Toby's face as he spoke in the moonlight, appreciating just how damn beautiful he was, but he didn't really need to fuel Toby's ego by talking about it. "I was thinking about how you said Jon reminded you of Colin."

Toby sighed, winding his arms around Will from behind. "They're really nothin' alike, not in substance. Jon's a sweet kid, though. I'm sure he's got to be terrified about being positive, but he ain't done much talkin' to me since he told me."

"I think you should reach out to him," said Will. Toby looked at him in surprise. "I mean it. To make sure he's not entirely alone in this, at the very least. I bet he could use a friend."

"I'll do my best." He squeezed Will in a little  _thank-you_  hug. "Oh, I met another young man who could use a friend. My dance student, Jake Puckerman."

" _Puckerman?"_  Will blinked. "You took a student? Who is he?"

"He's Puck's half-brother. Only Puck don't know anythin' about Jake. I told Kurt, and I'm gonna leave it at that. He's wicked talented, Will. Poor kid's livin' all alone in the middle of nowhere, twelve years old, and he's one of the most motivated, creative students I ever had. I'll send you a link to his YouTube channel."

"Wow." He shook his head in amazement. "How'd you find him?"

"His therapist teaches the PFLAG meeting in Dayton. I brought one of my students. You'd like the therapist; she's fantastic." Toby kissed his cheek. "And no, I'm not introducing you to her. Last thing I need is more competition."

"Toby," Will laughed, "I think we established I'm not interested in women."

"Still. I'm hedging my bets and keeping you here in this house for the next twenty years. Well, the next eight hours, anyway."

"It's a deal."

Toby took his hand. "Ready for bed, darlin'?"

Will's voice floated up the stairs from behind him as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. "I had another ghost from my past show up this week. Bryan Ryan. He was  _my_  competition, back in high school, for all the girls I wanted to date. You know what I figured out? He thought I was  _his_  competition. And now he's pretty much where I was two years ago: married, hiding everything important, floundering for something to believe in again."

"Yeah?" They paused at the top of the landing. "You think he's gonna find it?"

"Well, maybe getting the lead in Les Mis will be a start for him. Herb Duncan cast me at Jean Valjean, but I passed on it. Bryan can have it."

Toby stared at him. "Will? Since when do you decline the  _lead_?"

"I don't need it," he insisted. He took Toby's hands. "I have Glee. And I have you. Christ, Toby, I don't need  _all_  my dreams to come true. I've got enough of them right here."

Toby had kept his queen-sized bed, which was plenty big enough for the two of them, and moved the enormous king-sized four-poster to the attic. Lying beside Toby in the dark, knowing they were driving distance from Will's own home, was still a little surreal.

"We've got big plans coming up for Vocal Adrenaline," Toby said. "You'd better get ready for some ass-whuppin.' I don't think Shelby's plannin' to pull any punches."

"I don't need any spoilers from you, thank you. New Directions can take care of its own. Plus, we've got Jesse St. James now, and as much as I don't appreciate the drama he's brought to Rachel's life, I must say he's incredibly talented."

"That he is," Toby agreed. "And I'd just as soon not know anything about your own plans, whatever they may be."

"Plans. Yeah." Will gathered Toby closer beside him. "Well, one thing that's happening next week is my divorce is being finalized."

"Hooray?"

Will chuckled softly. "I think so, Toby, but… it's the end of an era. A big change is coming, for you and me. We're going to have to figure out what's next for us." He smiled ruefully into the dark. "The last thing I want to do is make the same mistakes Terri and I made all over again."

"Will, I promise you, I ain't gonna let you make those mistakes." He clasped Will's hand tightly. "We'll figure it out together, all right? We've been through worse together, and we're still here."

"We are," Will agreed. "Thank you. For doing that for me."

"Make no mistake, darlin', I did it for me. Your happiness is just an added bonus."

* * *

When Carl came down for breakfast on Saturday, Angela handed him a slip of paper along with his coffee. "Emma called last night to ask if you would like to ride down to Columbus with her this week."

He nodded slowly. "I think it's time to tell her about Finn."

She nodded back. Angela wouldn't offer to place the call for him. Better than anyone, she was aware of the importance of a line between personal and professional relationships. Finn was his boy. If Emma was going to be his friend instead of his client, she would need to understand some things about his life - and this was a big one. But the sympathetic expression Angela wore made it clear she understood the position he was in.

Angela wasn't going to tell Carl to  _stop seeing her,_  or  _send her to another Dom._  Carl knew very well that would be the rational decision. He was sure it was what Tess would instruct him to do — if she didn't have strict boundaries of her own regarding Carl's life.

_No directives about Shelby, or Rachel, or Finn. And now, not about Emma._ Jesus, he already felt protective of her.

He sighed, picked up the phone and dialed, accepting the piece of toast Angela set at his elbow.

" _Carl,_ " Emma said, breathless and delighted. It made him smile.

"Good morning, Emma. Are you feeling ready to make the drive down to Columbus?"

" _I'm ready. Can I give you a lift?"_

"That's why I'm calling, actually. Thank you for the invitation. You might recall Mistress Tib's coffee shop has an open mic on Saturdays? I go down every week for that."

" _Oh, that sounds fun! I wouldn't mind staying for that."_

Carl had been afraid she was going to respond that way. "I sing with the young man I was mentoring last year."

" _Oh."_  She sounded tentative.  _"I don't suppose he'd want someone like me hanging around with you? I mean, maybe he'd be jealous."_

"Maybe," he acknowledged. "It's more complicated than that, Emma. He and I made the transition from professional to personal relationship back in December, when it became obvious we had feelings for one another. I'm explaining this to you because you know this young man, and confidentiality, as you know, is paramount in situations like these."

" _I know him?"_  she said.  _"Are you certain?"_

"I'm certain," he told her firmly. "I know I can count on you to keep this private. Beyond that, I think you deserve to know more details about my personal life, if we're going to be spending time together as friends."

" _Well, I appreciate your trust. And certainly, I wouldn't compromise anyone's privacy. You know one of the individuals in the munch is a student at my school."_

"Yes, she'd mentioned. I also know Lauren has said she doesn't care if anyone finds out she attends. This, with my boy… it's not like that. It's an intense relationship, and it has the potential to ruin both of our lives if people find out about it."

She dropped her voice.  _"Is… it legal, Carl?"_

"Legal, yes, and consensual. His mother knows me, and details of our relationship, and she has expressed her approval. But you of all people know how much reputation matters in situations like these."

" _His mother knows? You mean… about what you do? My goodness."_

"Oh, I would not choose to engage in a personal relationship with a boy this young without the full understanding and consent of his family. Even so, we're being very, very cautious. And I'm giving you the opportunity to find out about him, and decide if you can accept our relationship, before you and I go any further."

" _He means a lot to you."_  He could hear the trust in her voice.  _"Do you think… would he accept me? In your life?"_

"I believe he will. I've already told him you and I went out on a date, although he does not know the details of what you and I do together. He knows I have many clients. And he and I have an agreement that we can and will see other people. He has several other romantic relationships, and a boy of his own." Carl saw Angela's eyes on him, and she gave him a tacit nod of encouragement. He took a deep breath. "In any case, he'll be there today, singing with me at the open mic. I'm telling you because he is also one of your students, and I wanted you to be prepared."

" _Oh, Carl."_  Emma's sigh was hard not to read as disapproval. He waited in silence while she considered his words.

"If you'd prefer to avoid the situation today, just stay out of the main room of the coffeehouse. But I knew this would come up sooner or later. I thought you deserved to know."

" _Thank you. I… I think I need to think about it."_

"Of course." He wanted to add  _I'm sorry,_  but he knew from experience that those words, coming from someone in his position, might be hard to hear. Instead, he said, "Thank you for listening. I would understand if you chose not to come."

" _No, I'll be there. But I appreciate the heads up, really. You've been so kind to me on this amazing journey."_

"I'm not going anywhere, Emma," he said.

" _Thank you."_  The words were almost a whisper, and he heard the silent  _sir_  at the end, even if she didn't vocalize it.

He set the phone down on the counter and closed his eyes, rubbing them with the heels of his hands. "Well… that's done."

"Give her time, sir," said Angela. "She won't know what she's feeling yet."

"I know. Is Jesse here?"

"He went out this morning."

Carl knew what that probably meant.  _He's at Rachel's._  He'd heard him on the phone with her, talking about a cassette tape, but that had been as far as Carl was willing to go. He wasn't going to use Shelby's tactics of snooping in her life. In two years, she'd be eighteen, and he could approach her directly.

Picking up Finn at his house for the open mic was not something Carl had ever tried to hide. For one thing, Carl's car was hard to disguise. There weren't too many red Corvettes around Lima. Just parking in Kurt's father's driveway was bound to attract attention, but that was where Finn had told him he would be, so that was where Carl had come.

Sarah was the first person out the door, staring with fixed eyes at the car.

"Okay to swear around you?" she called. He grinned.

"As long as Mr. Hummel doesn't object."

She made a face. "Totally unfair." With a cautious hand, she approached the Corvette and touched the rear spoiler. "This is way more awesome than Kurt's Mustang."

"I think he would disagree with you. It's not a classic. It's just really fast." He waved at Finn, approaching from the porch, and Kurt and Puck, standing inside the door and watching. "Is Carole here?"

"She and Tatenui are having  _another_  discussion. It's about the house, even though they won't tell me what it's about."

"Would you be willing to go get her for me? I have an important question to ask her."

While Sarah trotted back into the house, Finn put his bag in the trunk. "You're sure I don't need to bring my kit?"

"Irene assured me she could arrange to have one at the coffeehouse this week. It might not be spectacular, but it'll be fine. I have a hybrid electric drum set I can bring with us next time, if it turns out to be needed." He gestured at the car. "The biggest reason not to bring it is that we couldn't fit it in my car."

"Well, I could drive the Navigator," Finn said, but Carl shook his head.

"I have a different plan." He greeted Carole as she returned with Sarah. "Good morning."

"Sarah said you had a question for me?" Carole asked.

"Well, now that the snow has mostly melted, I'm wondering how you'd feel if Finn drove us down to Columbus."

"I wouldn't object. He has a clear record, and he's been driving on his own for over a year." Carole's eyes came to rest on the Corvette. "Oh. You mean —"

"Oh my god." Finn's smile was huge. Carl couldn't help smiling in response. "You're going to let me drive the  _Corvette?"_

"If your mother says you may," said Carl, but Finn was already circling to the driver's side and peering inside.

"Mom. I  _promise,_  I'll go the speed limit, and I'll be  _completely_ safe, and — this is so sweet. Puck!"

He'd shouted his best friend's name, but the one who came down the porch steps was Kurt, and he didn't look all that happy.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Finn gave him a hurt look. "Hey."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't trust him to drive it well." Carl turned to Carole. "My ulterior motive is so I can quiz him on his Spanish while he drives."

"Sold," she said, smiling. Then, to Finn, she added, "Don't get so distracted by Carl's quizzing that you aren't paying attention to the road."

"No, no, I won't!" He turned his jubilant, expectant expression back on Carl. "Come on, let's go!"

Kurt was speaking with Carole as Finn carefully pulled backward out of the driveway, and Puck had remained inside, waving from the window. They both waved back.

"How are things at Kurt's house?" Carl asked.

"Complicated," Finn said. He shifted to second and accelerated to the corner, leaning a little too heavily on the brake when he stopped. The car lurched. "Sorry. Yeah, it's just different, getting used to Puck being like — you know, the slave thing. And Sarah's trying to get Burt to go along with this house plan, but right now it's still pretty crowded. I don't know how Kurt thinks we're really going to fit everything into that place. I guess we're going to try." He smiled over at Carl as they paused at the stop sign. "This is so great. Thank you. Sir."

"I told you I was going to find a way to hold your attention long enough to study Spanish. Don't worry, we won't do it for the whole drive." Carl allowed himself to drink in the sight of Finn, happily installed in the driver's seat. Even with the seat all the way back, it was a little bit of a tight fit. "You look really good in my car."

"It feels amazing," he enthused. "God, the acceleration. I could really get used to this."

Carl nodded. "I wanted to let you know… Emma will be there this week, at Irene's, for the BDSM munch."

"Oh. Right, yeah. I forgot that was this week." He sobered quickly, but he didn't take his attention off the road. "Are you going to take her out on another date?"

"I imagine so. How do you feel about that?"

Finn was quiet while he settled on a comfortable speed for highway 65. "I know you're asking because you want to know," he said. "Not because I actually get a say. And that's fine."

"I do want to know what's hard for you and what's not, especially when it's about me."

"Well… okay." Finn nodded resolutely. "I guess this is a little hard for me. I've been trying to figure out why. It's not that I care about you being with girls. Women. I'm okay with that. And I like Mrs. P, I guess. She's nice."

"How would you feel if she knew about us?" asked Carl.

"You want to tell her about us?" Finn looked absolutely stunned at the idea. "Really?"

"I trust you to keep my secrets. I would trust you to do that, even if we stopped seeing one another. I would trust her to do the same."

He watched the smile slowly return to Finn's face. "Yeah. That makes sense. If you trusted somebody that much, I would, too. Wow, it would just be… kind of amazing to know she knew. That  _anybody_  knew."

"Well, if she shows up today, we might have an opportunity to tell her. I'm going to let her decide if she wants to know, first. No pressure, all right? So don't assume she knows anything until she tells you herself." Carl flexed his hands and focused on releasing the tension in his body. He could do it almost automatically now, after all these years, but it was still a beneficial exercise. "I think it's time for some vocab practice."

Finn had an abysmal Spanish accent. Carl was doubtful he'd ever be able to change that, since Finn also struggled with matching pitch when he sang sometimes, but there were exercises that might help. His recall was even worse. He could parrot back words, but by the time Carl had introduced four or five terms that should be review, Finn had forgotten the first few. It was clearly frustrating, and Finn was definitely relieved when Carl called a halt.

"I really do want to do better," Finn told him as they climbed out of the car.

Carl took the keys and secured the car with one click. "You worked very hard today. I'll need to see what other strategies might be out there. I know you're not used to being here this early, but if you don't want to come to the munch, you could ask Irene if she would let you set up the drum kit while the rest of us are meeting."

"Yeah, that'd be good," said Finn gratefully. "I don't think I'm ready to sit in a room with Mrs. P and talk about what I like to do in bed."

Irene was willing to stay with Finn and help him set up the drum kit in the back room as people began to filter into the back room for the munch. Lauren gave him a familiar wave and a "Hey, Derek," as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"I heard through the grapevine about your project with Sarah," he said, somewhat cautiously. Talking about their lives outside the coffeehouse was generally frowned upon, but Lauren made it common knowledge that she didn't care who knew what about herself. She just nodded.

"That kid is quick," she said. "And she knows stuff about how the world works, and how to talk to adults. Practical skills. It's refreshing."

"It's drawn attention from her teachers and principal. They want her to skip a grade."

"Huh." Lauren shrugged. "School's kind of useless. Why make it harder? And her mom freaking  _died_  this year. She doesn't really need more hard shit."

"I'd say building a house would be hard," he said. Lauren looked closely at him.

"You think she's actually expecting to go  _through_  with the project? A real building, not virtual, not hypothetical?" She shook her head slowly. "That's ridiculous. What does she need a house that size for? Except — wait."

Carl could almost see her putting two and two together, and then three, and then doing long division. He took a couple of steps away. "I think you'll need to ask her for the details."

"Oh, I'm going to  _ask,_ " she muttered. "Like I said, she's quick. I bet she'll have her ass covered."

Most of the usual attendees were there, along with Irene — Mistress Tib, as she called herself in mixed company, short for her last name,  _Tibideaux —_  and Lauren and Six, but Emma was nowhere in sight. Carl found himself distracted and more worried than he'd expected to be.

Six leaned over at some point and whispered, "Where's your girl?"

"She's not my girl," he whispered back.

And then, when Emma walked in the door ten minutes later and met his eyes across the room, looking sheepish and out of breath, he had to fight back the stupid grin and the relief and the impulse to take her into his arms. Six, who obviously wasn't fooled for an instant, said nothing.

Emma came over to the empty chair beside Irene and sat down, setting her purse on her lap and looking carefully at each person in the room. When she looked quizzically at Carl, he gave her a little head-shake, hoping she'd understand what he meant, that Finn wasn't there.

"Welcome, Jane," Irene said, nodding at her steadily. "Since you're coming in late, if there's anything you'd like to tell us about how your month has gone, you're invited to do that now."

Emma started to laugh. "Well," she said, "I'm definitely in the right place. I wasn't exactly sure of that last month. I'm, um… I'm happier? A lot happier, I'd say. And calmer, more able to cope. And I — I met someone."

"Congratulations," Six said, grinning. "Does he understand what you're doing here?"

"He does. He's wonderful, and very kind, and I didn't expect it to be as… important to me." She glanced at Carl, then away. "But it is. He is."

Carl could tell Irene was glaring at him for the rest of the morning, but he absolutely wasn't going to talk about personal things at the munch. He had to appear here in a strictly professional capacity, or he'd never be able to maintain any kind of reputation in the community. Which made it that much more complicated when Emma approached him afterward, but she didn't do more than adore him with her eyes.

"I think I'm ready to go out there and listen to you sing," she said. "Along with anyone else you've brought today."

"He goes by the name of Christopher, here," he told her. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it if you'd try to remember that. And you've seen his boy sing before. Patrick."

"The one with the curly hair." She looked a little unsteady, but she smiled bravely and followed him through the hallway to the coffeehouse.

Carl saw no discernible change in her expression when she spotted Finn at the drum kit, talking in an undertone with Blaine. Finn, on the other hand, remained cheerful. He beckoned Blaine to come over to where Emma and Carl were standing.

"Christopher," said Carl to Finn, "I want you to meet Jane."

"Hey," said Finn, offering his hand to shake. Emma paused only momentarily before shaking it. She offered Blaine a tentative smile, and he smiled back.

"You're Patrick? You have a wonderful voice."

"Thanks," Blaine said shyly.

That was about all the conversation the four of them had, which was just fine with Carl. He encouraged Emma to get a chair in the back, and went with the two boys to the raised platform that served as a stage, where the drum kit and piano were waiting.

"I know we've been playing and singing together for weeks," he said to Blaine, "but Finn expressed his wish to sing in a band together. You think you might want to do that for real?"

Blaine wore that surprised-grateful-wary expression, the one that told Carl he never expected anyone to invite him to do such a thing — and if they did, it was certain to be a hoax. But Finn was there beside him, and he just said, "A — a band? I'd love to."

They settled in around Finn, opening their guitar cases. "It would be Finn on drums, I think, since I can play guitar or bass," Carl went on. "Although I might encourage him to keep practicing the guitar, just so I can play drums on a few songs. Which would leave you free to choose piano, guitar, vocals — whatever floats your boat. And we'll have to come up with a name."

"All right," Blaine nodded, looking excitedly at Finn. "I've always wanted to be in a band."

"Great. Finn, did you have a song in mind to lead with today?"

Finn hesitated. "I was thinking the new Billy Joel, since we've got the piano here? But…" His eyes wandered to Carl, and then to Emma.

Carl managed a watery smile. "We can't let our audience influence our choices too much. The Billy Joel would be fine. Finn, how about you do More Than A Feeling? Maybe a little louder than our usual fare, but it'll go over well after the quieter song. And Blaine…?"

"I was thinking U2, today," he spoke up suddenly. He looked up at Finn. "If that's okay."

They were all tiptoeing around each other, trying not to push any of each other's buttons on this weird, weird day, but there was really no way around that. Emma was here, Finn was here, and — Carl could  _do_ this. "We'll start with U2, since you've done that one before," he decided, "and then the Billy Joel, and end with Boston."

Carl knew the Saturday crowd mostly came to hear Patrick, but they had not seemed bothered by the fact that he had been mostly singing duets and ensemble numbers for the last three months. Carl himself didn't mind being a background singer for Blaine's powerhouse of a voice, but he wanted Blaine to get a chance to hear Finn really shine. The Boston song would provide that chance. And the Billy Joel… well. There were lots of ways that could be interpreted.

Blaine pulled the microphone stand close to his mouth, blinking at the crowd under his loose curls. "Hi." There was some immediate scattered applause. Blaine waved it away with his customary self-deprecating smile. "I'm Patrick. Glad you could make it tonight. Thanks to Christopher for bringing his drums along today." More applause, including Emma. "We've got a short set to start off the open mic, beginning with one of my favorites."

The last time "Patrick" had sung this at Irene's, he'd done it solo. Carl remembered what a mess he'd been that day. Looking at Blaine now, what he'd become under Finn's care, it was almost unbelievable. He looked a little startled and a little pleased to hear Carl come in with the rhythmic guitar line and Finn on the drums, but he recovered quickly. Finn didn't try to hide his pride as Blaine let his remarkable voice soar.

[ _http://youtu.be/O_ISAntOom0_ ](http://youtu.be/O_ISAntOom0)

_I have climbed the highest mountains_  
 _I have run through the fields  
_ _Only to be with you_

_I have run, I have crawled_  
 _I have scaled these city walls  
_ _Only to be with you_

_But I still haven't found what I'm looking for  
_ _But I still haven't found what I'm looking for_

He accepted the applause with grace. Finn was still beaming at him.

"That's one of my favorite songs," he told Blaine under his breath.

Next Blaine moved to sit at the piano. He began the song by playing the opening bars of Georgia On My Mind, just as Billy Joel did, with a little funky twist. There was whistling and clapping, and Blaine nodded at Carl, smiling.

Carl tipped the microphone stand down to reach where he sat with his guitar. "I've been singing Goodnight My Angel for sixteen years, but Patrick and Christopher and I have persuaded me to perform something else from the vast catalogue of Billy Joel."

[ _http://youtu.be/ED9bFfA4wpg_ ](http://youtu.be/ED9bFfA4wpg)

_It's time for me to be on my way, I know_  
 _I've got business to conduct and I've got places to go_  
 _But I can't help looking at her sleeping instead  
_ _Another morning I'll have trouble climbing out of this bed_

_Because - she's such a temptation_  
 _It's driving me crazy_  
 _And it's my fascination that's making me act this way_  
 _And I know what all my friends say_  
 _They're afraid that I'm losing my touch  
_ _But she's such a temptation_

They sounded good, Carl knew: his vocals, Finn's quiet drums, Blaine on the piano. It wasn't a particularly technically challenging song, but that meant there was plenty of room for the meaning of the lyrics to come through. He could see Emma's expression, the way she was taking the song to heart, but all Carl could think about was Finn in his bed, waking in his arms. Temptation indeed.

_I look so tired cause I don't get much sleep_  
 _And I've got too many commitments that are too hard to keep_  
 _And I try to be rational, and I try to be wise  
_ _But it all gets blown to pieces when I look in her eyes_

_Because - She's such a temptation  
_ _And nothing can save me  
_ _But I might find salvation if I can tear myself away  
_ ' _Cause I know what all of my friends say  
_ _There's a danger in wanting too much  
_ _But she's such a temptation_

If Blaine was thinking about the lyrics and what they meant, he wasn't letting on; he was remaining focused and keeping his face impassive, but Finn's face told a completely different story. There were long pauses between verses during which Carl could watch Finn out of the corner of his eye. He was pretty sure Finn wasn't aware Carl was doing it. Finn's attention wasn't anywhere close to the music, or on Carl, or even on Emma. It was all on Blaine.

_Blaine didn't want him to leave, when he spent the night,_  he thought, remembering Finn's early morning mumbled words: _I can't. I can't stay, Blaine._ But Finn had wanted to.

The last verse had always made Carl laugh.  _Resistance? Restraints?_  It sounded like Mr. Joel might have some idea about what they were all dealing with. He sang with his eyes on Emma, and she blushed and looked away.

_I should be leaving but I can't cut loose_  
 _I have my reasons for resistance but I have no excuse_  
 _And I lose my composure, I could use some restraint  
_ _I never claimed to be a hero and I never said I was a saint_

_She's such a temptation, it's driving me crazy_  
 _And it's my fascination that's making me act this way_  
 _And I can just hear all my friends say_  
 _"Better watch out, you're losing your touch"  
_ _But she's such a temptation_

It took them all a few moments to shake off the melancholy of the second song, but as soon as Finn moved to the microphone and smiled his disarming smile, saying, "I could use a little audience participation on this one," they were hooked. Just as he had at Tessera, he taught them to play the drum part on their knees, complete with virtual high hat.

While Carl tuned up his Les Paul, Blaine surprised him by pulling out his own electric, coming over to Carl so they could tune the guitars to one another. "I'll mostly stay out of your way," Blaine murmured, "but I know this song well enough. I'll fake the bass part, and take the high harmony line on the chorus, okay?"

It was a good reminder of how professional a musician this kid was, no matter how young he seemed. Finn had told Carl he wasn't even sixteen yet. It was hard to imagine what kind of stage presence he would have in another ten years.

Now it was Carl's turn to focus on the music. Tom Scholz' guitar line wasn't the most challenging solo he'd ever played, but he had to think about it to remember the chord changes. Still, he could appreciate Finn in the spotlight as he sang his favorite 80s rock ballad:

[ _http://youtu.be/SSR6ZzjDZ94_ ](http://youtu.be/SSR6ZzjDZ94)

_I_   _woke up this morning and the sun was gone  
_ _Turned on some music to start my day  
_ _I lost myself in a familiar song  
_ _I closed my eyes and I slipped away_

_It's more than a feeling_  
When I hear that old song they used to play  
And I begin dreaming  
'Til I see Mary Ann walk away  
I see my Mary Ann walkin' away

_So many people have come and gone_  
Their faces fade as the years go by  
Yet I still recall as I wander on  
As clear as the sun in the summer sky

Just as he'd expected, Blaine was affected by Finn's performance, but it went beyond that. The way he was looking at him… Carl thought there was no way that a boy could look at another boy, wearing  _that_  kind of expression on his face, and  _not_  be feeling something powerful for him. It was beyond appreciation or even adoration. That was worship, plain and simple.

He smiled to himself as Blaine and Finn came together in harmony on the high notes at the end, and the audience erupted into applause. Their faces were like mirrors, shining on one another with joy and satisfaction. Right on stage, Blaine launched into Finn's arms and held on tight. Carl could tell he wasn't thinking anything about what other people would say, or even if it was safe. There was no question, because Finn was there. He was right where he belonged.

When Carl turned to check on Emma, he didn't see her at first. For a moment, he thought she'd left — and then he looked around the other direction, and she was already beside him, laughing.

"Oh, that was incredible. I can't even tell you what it was." She reached out to pat his arm, just a little, but he knew how much that small touch meant, coming from her. "I can't stop smiling. The three of you are like magic."

"We've got a good sound," Carl agreed. He was still thrumming with the energy of the set. "Come on, we'd better get off the stage so the next performer can take a turn. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm going to head out. Just… thank you." She looked meaningfully at Finn. "For trusting me. We can talk later."

Finn was still in something of a daze by the time they got in the car to go home. He didn't even ask to drive the Corvette. Carl let him spend most of the ride home in pensive silence. Trying to get him to answer vocabulary questions in the state he was in would have been more trouble than it was worth.

"You sounded good," Carl said. "On the Boston."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks." That seemed to wake him up. He rested a hand on Carl's leg. Carl put a hand over his, not in censure, but in appreciation. Finn smiled to himself. "That Billy Joel… it was kind of… the lyrics, you know?"

"Yeah," Carl agreed quietly. "It was. Still glad you mentioned it, though. We'll need to expand our repertoire if we want to play a whole set. More classic rock, some contemporary stuff. I can find us little venues all over northern Ohio, though." He squeezed Finn's hand. "As long as you can get your grades up."

"Yes, sir," Finn agreed, with a grimace. "I won't argue about that. I can use all the help I can get."

Carl waited until he was home and in his own house before he let himself collapse.

"No more coffee," he moaned, when Angela approached him.

"I wasn't going to offer it," she assured him, taking his guitar cases and setting them in the front hall. She guided him to a chair and relieved him of his coat. "Maybe some tea, sir?"

"You're so good to me." He sighed, relaxing into the chair. "Reassure me again that you're not just staying with me because you think I'll be useless on my own."

"It's not  _just_  that, sir." She smiled patiently as he swatted her. "No. That's not why. But you could use a wife. Davis was never a good one."

He shook his head wearily. "I'm terrible at being married."

"You just have to find the right partner." She sat on the footstool, patting his leg. "Someone who can put up with your moods, and keep up with your whims. Someone who loves it when you do the things that make  _you_  the most angry at yourself."

"You really think I could find someone like that?"

Angela nodded. "I like Emma. And Finn, for that matter, very much. I think they're both good for you." She looked down at her hands. "I'm ready to try again to find a placement, sir."

"I'll reopen the search." He sat forward and took her hand, squeezing it. "I haven't forgotten you, Angela."

"I know, sir," she said softly. "I never for one moment thought you had. I know you'll find me a master who feels like home."

Carl lay in his big bed for a long time before falling asleep, feeling the empty space beside him more keenly than usual.  _Now that I've been reminded of how good it feels to have him in here with me._  He sighed, turning over onto his side.  _But I'm not likely to ever have him for long, not like that. Best to move on from the dream and concentrate on the reality._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credits:
> 
> "Courage Is" is by The Strange Familiar, 2008.  
> "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" is by U2, 1987.  
> "Temptation" is by Billy Joel, 1986.  
> "More Than A Feeling" is by Boston, 1976.


End file.
